


What You Need

by intodust



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-04-07 14:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intodust/pseuds/intodust
Summary: You didn't go to the club to find a man, but you sure as hell leave with one.





	1. Chapter 1

The music thumped too loudly in your ear and you could feel the bass vibrating in your chest, buzzing to the point of being too uncomfortable to even dance. Bodies pushed past you from every direction, each one grazing their sweat-soaked arm against your own and further adding to your pitiful night. Every seat at the bar was taken, as were the tables and lounge chairs towards the back of the club, and you briefly considered slumming it on the dirty, sweaty, sticky floor just to avoid standing in your heels for any longer. You'd lost both your friends in the fray of people about fifteen minutes ago and neither of them were answering your phone calls, but your phone was dying anyway, so you put it back in your purse and hoped for the best. When you decided to go clubbing your main concern was sweating out your hair, not losing your drunken friends and fearing that you may actually break an ankle from standing.

You needed a good night, just one. It was pathetic how alone you've been since your last relationship and you just wanted to go out with your best friends, dance, get drunk, and maybe meet a handsome stranger to make out with. But you couldn't find your friends, you couldn't dance with bruised feet, your buzz was rapidly dwindling down, and everyone in this club has either bumped past you or stepped on your toe.

In a moment of weakness, you lent against the wall by the bathrooms, strictly reminding yourself not to slide down to the floor because it's undoubtedly festered with bodily fluids. The darkness was one of the worst parts of it all because you couldn't make out any faces, especially with your buzz making things pretty blurry and unfocused. Who were you kidding? Going out to binge drink your loneliness away doesn't make you any less lonely. You blinked up at the colorful lights of the club, then squinted through the crowd hoping to be able to make someone out. Your perception was terrible and everyone still remained giant blurs of clothes and hair...with the exception of one person.

You blinked to make sure you weren't hallucinating, then zeroed in on the only clear spot in your vision. He wore so much gold it reflected in the flashing lights and glittered around him, on his neck and his wrists and in his teeth when he laughed. Of course, your eyes attracted to him, he was like a beacon of light - like royalty. He had a smile that made you want to smile with him, despite how much the corners of his mouth upturned like he was up to something devious. Your eyes followed him and his friends as they walked from the dancefloor to the staircase of the second floor. All you could think about was his walk. Who walks with that much confidence and assurance? Like he has a mission to accomplish and he knows he's the only one who can do it. You realized only a second too late that you were essentially being a creep because his eyes cut to you and you froze in your place, heart skipping a beat and throat closing up. The man winked, then smirked himself up the rest of the stairs. Once out of your view, you let out a long breath and instinctively held your hand against your fast-beating heart.

Considering that those four seconds of eye contact were the most exhilarating moments of the night, you decided that you had to find your friends and leave. You don't know where your sudden burst of anxiety came from, but suddenly you felt the need to rush to your friends and get home as soon as possible. You could feel it all around your body, tingling from your fingertips to your abdomen, the anxiousness is what gave you the strength to push yourself from the wall and start looking for your friends.

You search the entire first floor of the club, even having to dance around a lot of drunk, groping men to try and spot them, but that was a dead end. You glanced up to the second floor, suddenly feeling a sense of dread and excitement in a strange mix. Gulping, you start your trek to the second floor and in the process, you realize how unpractical your short, tight dress is for climbing stairs, especially since you were positive the person behind you could see your ass. You pull the dress down as far as it will allow without having your tits pop out with it. You knew you should've worn your damn jacket, but you let your clown ass best friends make the decision for you.

The second floor is less rowdy than those perpetual ass grabbers downstairs, so you glided through the room a bit easier. The VIP booths were located against the walls, separated off with a red velvet rope. As you start fixating on the idea of VIP, you hear a loud cackle from your right that is just unmistakable.

"Do you bitches ever answer your phones?" You greeted your friends with the passive aggressive question, but they both celebrated your sudden appearance with cheering and hugging, which you pushed out of because you were sick of them. They began explaining how they were actually looking for you and some other dumb shit about getting caught up with watching someone get a champagne shower, you spaced out for a moment as they drunk-rambled to you. In that time, your eyes wandered back to the VIP section, then lingered curiously. There were a few cool looking people with furs around their shoulders and expensive designer shoes, but no one looked that amazing to be in VIP - though, that could just be you hating.

And then you saw him again. He sat stretched out in the booth, annoyingly casual with a bottle of Hennessy in front of him. He only appeared vaguely interested in whatever his group was discussing, only talking if everyone turned to give him attention, then visibly zoning out otherwise. His concern lied in the hands of the skinny light-skin man beside him, a freshly rolled blunt that he seemed to be hogging. Through the foggy haze covering his area, still, he was the only person that was clear to you, everyone else disappeared in the mist and blurred.

You openly admired his hair and how his dreads were braided back to show his face. And the thick stubble around his mouth, you could imagine how pleasurable that'd feel grazing up your thighs. His large hands, you could see gripping your waist, dragging you closer to him as you writhed. He'd probably take your voice away, slap your thigh while he's eating you out if you whimper too loudly, deny his touch if you didn't relinquish some degree of control. You bite your bottom lip thinking about how rough you'd let him be with you and that's the moment his eyes snap to yours.

Startled, you turn back to your friends and hope to God that he didn't notice you blatantly fantasizing about him. You try to jump back into the conversation, but you can feel that his eyes haven't left you, you feel his stare burning into your neck. You glance back to him. He's smirking like your skittish nature amuses him. He nods his head to the left, inviting you to his table without any words.

"Our ride's gonna be here in, like, two minutes. Let's go."

"You guys go ahead," you make an impulsive, perhaps stupid, split decision and send your friends off. It's not anything you could explain, the way you felt like a magnet to this mystery guy, the way that deep down you knew you'd be making this decision. You were like a child dying of thirst in the tundra and he was the unlikely river you found seconds before your dying breath. Too good to be true, but you'd be damned if you didn't try to dive in any way. "I have some unfinished business with someone," you gesture discreetly to the beautiful man you've been eye flirting with. Your friends briefly glance, then nod in appreciation and acceptance before reminding you to text them your codeword that you're safe. You wave them off downstairs before turning back to your guy.

You notice he's made his posse leave the booth, so it's just him there, drinking his Henny, waiting for you to join. Your eyes never leave each other's as you saunter to him, letting the hard hip-hop beats of the club carry you with more confidence than you possessed. You easily passed through the velvet rope and walked to where he was sitting. He looked like he wanted to eat you.

Being in such close quarters with him was so different than you imagined. Here you could clearly see the golden fangs in his bottom row of teeth, the dimples in his cheeks, the spark of interest lighting his brown eyes. Everything.

"You didn't have to send your friends away." You flippantly point to the six or seven people who took to dancing nearby. He shrugged.

"Neither did you."

That's fair.

You stick your hand out to him politely and tell him your name. Your heart-rate speeds slightly once his hand is in yours, squeezing and shaking. His hands are hulking over yours, fingers thick and possibly calloused from work, and you can think of nothing other than those hands lightly wrapped around your throat as you reach an intense climax. You blush as your hands part.

"Erik Stevens." He replies.

"So," you clear your throat to fill the silence between you, "for someone with a VIP table, you look pretty bored."

Erik smirks, then quickly downs his own shot.

"Not from lack of entertainment," his eyes wander down your body, then travel back to your eyes. "This shit just gets repetitive after awhile. I try to keep it interesting."

You get a strong feeling that he parties often, probably picks up girls left and right and from the nonchalant look on his face, your appearance wasn't a surprise either. 

"How you keeping it interesting tonight?" You ask. He poured some Hennessy in a shot glass and slid it towards you. You accept it, but don't drink right away, instead, you start sizing him up again.

"You've been pretty interesting." He says. It's such a line, but you still blush.

"How?"

"Shit, I don't know. I see you in this club looking irritated as hell, searching all over for your sloppy friends, damn near limping in those heels. And yet...you get this look on your face that's like...you don't mind it?"

"It sure as hell beats staying home and sulking the night away."

"Aw shit. What he do?" He asks jokingly. You laugh and playfully hit his shoulder.

"Nah, it's nothing like that. I just haven't been with anybody in a while. It gets lonely sometimes." You confess, but that's about ninety percent the alcohol speaking for you. Erik's brows raise.

"I find that hard to believe. You too goddamn fine to not have dudes swarming you left and right." He jokes, getting a small smile out of you.

"It's not hard finding them, it's hard keeping them. They usually don't know how to handle me." You smirk.

"How you like to be handled, ma?" He asked, sliding closer towards you.

"Oh, you think you can do what the others couldn't?" You asked mockingly. He could be talking all this big game and still have the weakest stoke of all time, you learned that the hard way. Erik shrugged, nodding as if it were obvious.

"I guarantee I'm better than the bitch niggas you been letting hit."

Your eyebrows raise. _Okay then_.

You couldn't ignore the dangerous glint in his eyes, the way his tongue dashed out to lick his full lips.

"That's a little cocky." You state, beginning to feel just a tad intimidated.

"That's what you like, though." His voice was deep, firm, sultry. His eyes looked into yours, direct and unflinching, almost daring you to try and disagree with his statement. He was right, you liked your men exactly like him - confident, dominant, radiating sexual energy.

"How do you know what I like?"

"C'mon, girl. You don't want these clowns." He gestured around the club, specifically towards the frat looking guys. "All unsteady, groping you, doing anything to show you they weak stoke game."

You giggle into your hands, relieved that someone finally said exactly what you were thinking.

"You walking 'round here looking that fucking good, you want a nigga that can handle all that, you said so yourself," he leaned closer to you, too close for comfort.

You swallowed. "...And apparently, that's you?" You sat up straight, crossing your legs with the hope of relieving some of your frustration.

"Damn right."

Though, something in his eyes told you that you'd regret it. That he'd break you apart and ruin you. You won't lie, there was confidence that you liked, but Erik's confidence wasn't too likable, it was uncomfortable and smothering and littered with red flags. His dominance didn't come from a wholesome place, you could see that even through a buzzed perspective, it came from him probably getting everything he wants. You were falling into his hands like putty and somehow he didn't do much to get you to drop everything and come to him instead. You don't know this man, but you know what a bad idea looks like and it's a smarmy grin on a devilish face that keeps refilling your cup. You didn't come to this club to get laid, you came to dance, flirt, and get drunk with your friends.

His hand dropped to your inner thigh, squeezing, slowly moving his way up. You gasp, trying to move away, but his grip is tight and he pulls you closer to him. His hands are parting your legs and you should be disgusted, but everything inside of you is screaming for his touch.

"That how you like to be handled, baby?" He asks, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. You felt scandalized, being able to see the crowd of dancing people and feel his hands inching closer to your underwear. You know your panties are uncomfortably wet and having him so near was making you so nervous, but so excited.

His hand cups your jaw, turning you to face him now.

"Answer me."

"Yeah," you whisper, eyes fixated on his thick lips. He smirks.

"Nah, none of that coy shit. Look me in the eyes." He says. "You want me to finger you right here? In front of all these people?"

You moan once he finally touches you, rubbing soft circles as you panted. You hold on to him to stop from writhing and making your actions more noticeable. He seemed to enjoy your squirming and stifled cries. His fingers push your lace panties to the side then push into you. You gasp, then drop your head to his shoulder as you try to control your moaning. His fingers are so thick and long, slowly fucking you in the back of the club. He laughs at you.

"Damn, you wet as shit." He thrusts his finger harder and you whimper. "You a lil freak, huh? Bet you been thinking bout me fucking you since you first saw me." You hide your moans into his black t-shirt, lost in a pleasure you haven't felt in a long while. "Nah, baby, I told you to look at me, c'mon, look up."

You don't think you can ever look this nigga in his eyes again, it's all too embarrassing. You keep your face buried in his shirt, gripping him, reaching for the orgasm you feel coming. His fingers truly are magic, you think as you push yourself into his thrusts. You could feel your orgasm building in you and you make that clear to him through a rushed whisper.

His fingers stop moving. You whine, looking up at him with a glare.

"I was almost," you pant, "so goddamn close! What are you doing? Keep going." You try to move on his fingers again, but he pulls them back.

The smirk he has on his face is downright devious and accomplished. He had you and he knew it.

"Hell nah. How bout next time I tell you to do something, yo lil disobedient ass do it." He explains, sucking his fingers in his mouth as he did so. Your thighs clench together.

"Who you think you talking to like that?" You ask, gaining some vibrato back in your voice. He's getting a little too bold on you, you're just trying to get off. He chuckles like the question was so funny. You roll your eyes and move away from him. "You ain't the only nigga in this club." You threaten.

"But I'm the only one who gon wreck yo shit."

You roll your eyes at the audacity of his fine ass. "Okay, even if that were true, that doesn't mean I have to put up with your nonsense and all this telling me what to do shit."

"Oh, so that shit's only good in theory? You talk about all them dudes that didn't handle you the way you wanted, then you find someone who can and you don't want it?"

"Maybe I just don't want you."

You move to stand up, but his hand gripped your arm, pulling you back into him and stopping you from further movement. You glance down warily to his strong hold on you, then to his eyes, crackling with an intensity you haven't yet seen. He noticed your worried expression, then loosened his grip with a laugh.

"You scared or sum?" He asked.

"Of you? Fuck no." You reply.

He glared at you for a good few seconds, then his lips smashed into yours. The sad part is, you didn't even fight it despite all your big talk, you pushed forward into this kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck. You pulled him closer, opened your mouth with his and sighed into him like a lovestruck teen. His tongue meeting yours made you squeal and you could feel his cocksure smile of accomplishment as you continued kissing him.

He pulled away first, eyes alight with pleasure.

"Lie to me all you want. C'mon, let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on my bullshit. Practice safe sex, unlike the fools I write about.

Lights blurred as you passed them, cars whizzing beside you like clashes of colors and you stuck your hand to the window in awe. You didn't care much if he was watching you from the driver's seat, you rarely traveled to this side of town and definitely not at such a pace, so your eyes moved quickly to capture the expensive life you were obviously being dragged into. This wasn't the kind of place you imagined he'd be taking you to, but then again you couldn't get that accurate a read on him anyway. You used the last of your phone battery to text your friends where you were and who you were with just in case it all went south.

He ditched his little crew in the club without saying goodbye, just a weird nod of confirmation that made you squint. His car was pulled up by the valet, a navy blue sports car that probably cost more than your apartment. He had a smug look when you admired the leather seats, which only made you want to find something wrong with it. When he started the car, his speakers turned on with it blasting hard west coast hip-hop, which he sure as hell didn't turn down despite your wincing.

Sure, he's not someone you'd want to bring home to your family, but you figure it's worth it to get a good night out of him. Even if he does drive you all the way to the other side of town.

You wanted to ask him what he did for a living, but that would be too personal for a one-night-stand. The less you know the better. The last thing you want is to catch feelings for someone like him, it'll only end with you getting hurt. You stare at him as he speeds through the streets, no doubt running a few lights. You smiled to yourself because you really got the finest man in that place. He noticed you looking at him at a red light, then bit his bottom lip. His eyes took you in from head to toe.

"You like how fast I'm going?" He asked, teasing.

"I think you could go faster." You reply with a cheeky smile.

"That's how you like it?" His eyes glint in the streetlights, looking wild and unrestrained. You clenched your thighs together helplessly, hating that his crazy ass unpredictability is what gets you going.

"Yeah."

The speed he takes off with feels dangerous like you're freefalling. You don't even have time to gasp, he's swerving down the highway and taking your breath away. An excitement you haven't felt in a long time sneaks up on you and you find yourself smiling as you fly past other cars. In a moment of giddiness, you shout your enthusiasm. He laughs as you continue your whoo'ing and enjoying yourself. He increases the bass (to show out, you presume) and your entire body is buzzing to the beat of a familiar hip-hop song. You rap a couple of bars, swaying side to side and you can hear him joining in on your impromptu karaoke.

You were afraid that the police would pull you over. Two black people in an expensive sports car blasting hip hop? Clear target. The shots you took at the club didn't help the situation, either. In any case, the cops didn't interrupt your fun, which was a little suspect because usually, you couldn't go above 50 MPH without getting stopped. He seemed to have everything suspiciously under control though.

The song switches to a softer r&b track and Erik turns the radio down a few notches. You smile over at him, admiring his beautiful brown skin and the gold that continued to shine on his neck. Curious, you reach your hand over and caress down his neck, trailing your wandering fingers from his nape to the cold of his chains, then over to his shoulder which you gripped. In your trance-like state, you hardly noticed him staring you through the corner of his eyes, smirking.

"Look at you. Can't keep your hands off a nigga."

"Shut up," you reply as you lean the rest of your body over. He gives you a questioning side eye as you propped yourself up on the armrest, your face beside him.

The ride was taking too long and you couldn't even help yourself anymore, you needed to feel him on you again, you needed the thrills he's been giving you since you first locked eyes. You leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, then hesitantly, to his lower jaw. He hummed in approval. You smirked and continued planting soft kisses on his skin, inhaling his intoxicating scent of soap and cologne. Cheekily, you poked at his neck with your tongue, giggling afterward. He bit his lower lip and began tapping on the steering wheel.

"Baby girl, you must be tryna run our asses off the road." He chuckled, though you could hear the clear frustration in his voice. "You always been a thrill-seeker?" He asks.

You peck at his collarbone, delighting in his clear muscle definition. "Not really, no." You whisper into his neck.

"I just bring that out of you?" He says as more of a statement than a question. You turn hot as you reflect on your behavior, but it doesn't stop you from sucking at the side of his neck - which, in retrospect wasn't a good idea. He, however, remained cool and confident, driving as he has been before you started assaulting him with your tongue. A lesser man surely would've swerved with how forward you were being, but that's what you liked about him, he wasn't like anyone you'd ever hooked up with.

Slowly, he released his right hand from the steering wheel and pushed it down to his jeans, adjusting himself as you tried to create a kaleidoscope of hickies on his skin. His breathing pattern changed, getting faster with every exit that was passed. You were absolutely on cloud nine.

"Feel good?" You whisper into his ear as your hand descends down his chest. His eyes are now struggling to stay on the road. You take his gulping silence to mean yes and continue on with your ministrations. Your hands slide down to his crotch, experimentally pressing down on his confined dick. Erik groans, slightly pushing up into your touch.

"Fuck," he grunts. You keep rubbing against him, feeling the hardness underneath his layers and giving his neck sloppy kisses. "Goddamn. I'm gon' fuck the shit outta you." He promises, still trying desperately to pay attention to the road and drive to his place faster. You giggle to yourself, peppering light kisses up to his jaw now.

"I don't like how you teased me back there," you whisper against his skin.

"You won't get teased again if you be a good girl for me. Can you do that?" He asks in huffs, slowly grinding up into your palm. You nod. "Baby, speak up."

"I can be a good girl for you." You chime with absolutely no sense of pride. Fuck that. Your inner ho is on the loose and she deserves this. He groans, then without hesitation he turns and smashes his lips to yours. It's messy, chaotic, and wild, your mouths hungry for each other. You lose yourself in his rough kisses a little too much because a car horn is what separates you two. You snap back to reality and, yeah, he's fucking driving. Right.

"Buckle up because if we not at the house in two minutes, I'm pulling over and fucking you raw in the backseat." He pressed down on the speed and continued on this unknown route. You strap yourself in, smiling to yourself because you were down for either option if you were being real.

Less than two minutes later, true to his word, the car turns into a large driveway leading into a two car garage. He cuts the engine and leans over to press a chaste kiss to your lips, lingering just a second too long for it not to feel romantic. You smile as he unbuckles your seatbelt for you, savoring his undivided attention. He presses another kiss to your temple, whispering a fond _"my lil daredevil"_ before opening his door.

You follow his lead, unbuckling and exiting his car. You appreciate the cobblestone ground of the driveway as he leads you to the front door of his house. It was impressive, two stories high and as large as a house you'd expect in the richest of suburbs. It was far too luxurious for only one person. Surely, he didn't live by himself, you thought. What does he even do to make enough to afford all of these things?

"You live here alone?" You ask, walking into his house, though it looked more like a museum than anything. African artifacts were showcased on a few walls in glass boxes, Afrocentric paintings lined up in between them, and there was even a small rustic statue by the staircase. He shrugged, walking to his living room couch to sit as you still spun around trying to take in how amazing his house was. His living room could probably fit most of your apartment in it. You glance up, surprised to find expensive looking chandeliers.

"Sometimes my cousin stays over if he's in America." He explains from the living room. You mindlessly wander towards him and sit next to him on the couch, still discreetly checking out the interior design of his house and large pieces of art decorating his walls. Definitely Mediterranian style architecture, you silently commend. He laughs at you, efficiently snapping you out of your E Network fantasy.

"Damn, you need me to give you and this house some alone time? You getting wet looking at chandeliers and shit."

You huff your embarrassment and hit his shoulder. "Fuck you, I can appreciate art if I want."

"Peep all that shit in the morning, baby, come over here and appreciate this dick." He smirks, pulling you in by your waist to sit on his lap. You roll your eyes, but slowly prop up on your knees and straddle him on the couch. You run your hands up his arms to his shoulders. He's so muscular, he doesn't even need to flex.

"Yeah, that's perfect." He says as his hands explore your waist to your backside. His lips quickly attach to your neck, sucking any patch of skin he could get to, pushing you down to grind in his lap. You bit your lip to keep the shameless moan from coming out.

" _Ah_!" You yelp at his hand smacking your ass. He pulls you back so you're level with his face, foreheads pressed against each other.

"That ain't loud enough for me, baby."

"Give me a reason to get loud, _baby_." You tease with a wicked smile. You enjoyed messing with him more than you'd ever admit. His eyes blink in surprise, a devious smile pulling at the edges of his mouth showcasing his dimples. He stares at you for a moment like he'd just found out something important about you.  
You blush at his dazed facial expression.

"Stop looking at me like that," you laugh, covering your face. Erik pulls your hands from your face, intertwining it with his. With nowhere to hide from his intrusive stare, you duck your head and continue laughing.

"Oh, you shy all of a sudden?" He asks rhetorically, but you shake your head anyway. The giggles were just a side effect of you drinking and sometimes it was hard to control.

"No, I just laugh when hoes can't make me cum," you say boldly, and it's obviously meant to be taken as a joke, but that dangerous gleam in his eyes comes back stronger than ever and you realize you've made a grave mistake. Your eyes caught the harsh clench of his jaw as he regarded you, glaring a hole into your face and you couldn't even stutter out an apology before he tossed you beneath him on the couch. During the transition, your dress had risen past your belly button, displaying the ruined black lace wrapped around you. He gripped both your wrists in his hand, pushing them above your head as his other wrapped lightly around your throat.

"You talk too fucking much," he grunts, sliding between your legs to push his erection into you. "That slick ass mouth gon' get you in trouble." His jeans grate against your wet underwear making you whimper. You try thrashing against him, but a quick _thwack!_ to your thighs stop you. You try to speak again, but his hand moves from its firm place on your neck to your mouth, effectively stopping you from making the situation worse. Your whine is muffled by his hand.

"I bet that's what yo lil freak ass want, ain't it?" He leans over so that his lips are flush against your ear. "Fuck the foreplay shit, you tryna get that punishment, that's what you want." He chuckles darkly as you wriggle in his grasp, trying to get more pleasure from his hips. "How'd your old niggas punish you?" He asks and this time removes his hand so you may answer him. You inhale all the air taken from you, panting as you stared up at the ceiling.

"They d-didn't..." you whisper, hoarse. He laughs then, sliding his hand down to your breasts.

"You used to run all over them, huh?"

You shook your head. "No, it wasn't even --"

 _Thwack_!

Your thigh stings.

"No more lying, baby. If I think you lying, yo ass sure as hell gon' be dying laughing because you ain't gon' be cumming." He threatens. "Now, did you run all over your exes?"

"Yes," you whimper, hoping to make some sort of atonement for your earlier words.

"That's what I thought." He huffs, then releases your wrists from his grip, instead of reaching down to grab hold of your waist. Before you could question his intentions, you're being lifted.

Like a rag-doll, you were picked up and tossed over his shoulder. You fixed your mouth to complain as he stood up and began walking, but thought against it. You were in enough trouble as it was. You settled for tsking because the only thing in your line of sight was the hardwood floors of his house and his ass. You entered a room with a beautiful double door entrance that you couldn't even fully admire because he decided to toss you off his shoulder.

You landed on a bed haphazardly, grunting in irritation.

"Seriously?"

"Deadass." He replies snarkily. You roll your eyes. "Take them shits off." He gestures towards your dress that turned into a shirt and you lace underwear. "It's not a suggestion." He says when you don't immediately move. You rush to get the dress up and over your head, then kick your heels off and start pulling your underwear down. In front of you, he's removing his clothes, too, a show you'd be damned if you missed, so your attention zeroes in on him taking off his shirt.

Scars. So many damn scars.

You're worried initially, but upon seeing his unbothered face realize that he's probably done it to himself. But why? What's he tallying? You're so caught up in his markings that you don't notice he's glaring at you. Like you were about to run out screaming because of his scars. You crawl towards him on your knees and hesitantly lean to touch the bumpy grooves in his skin, fascinated more than anything. He looks down at you blankly.

Experimentally, you lean in to kiss his chest, then look up at him for confirmation. You can't decipher what he looks means, so you move back to his chest placing sloppy kisses down his torso and using your hands to feel the scars. The only instance you get that he's enjoying what you're doing is the small sigh leaving his lips once you lightly scrape your fingernails down him. He lets out a soft laugh that has you looking back up to him.

"You something else." He said fondly. You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. He kisses you hard, pushing back down to the bed with him on top. You help unbuckle his pants as you two explore each other's mouths, sucking and teasing and biting.

"I want to hear you begging for me." He comments as he gets his jeans down, crawling up on the bed. You stare down to his length as it pops out of his underwear, then bite your lip. He's bigger than you expected, longer and girthier. You wondered how you would even get him in you.

"Want me to fuck you?" He asks with a smirk.

"Yes."

He settled over you, shoving your legs apart. The tip of his dick nudged your entrance. "You ain't doing enough begging, ma."

Your voice cracked. "Please, fuck me."

He snickers under his breath obviously finding amusement in your weak pleas. You feel his tip brushing up and down your pussy, never pushing in but slowly pleasuring your clit. You can't help but to whine and try to move towards him so he'd fill you up. His hand slapped your stomach, stopping you from moving further.

"Did I say you could move?" He asks. Pouting, you shake your head.

"Please, baby, I need it. I need you to fuck me, please!" You beg sternly albeit a little pathetic. He smirks, then you feel him sliding inside of you, stretching your pussy out farther than you expected. He snapped his hips and you went from having barely any satisfaction to being the most filled you've ever been. He didn't give you much time to adjust, thrusting hard into you again and groaning out his pleasure.

"Damn, baby. Look how wet you getting." He reaches down to your cunt, rubbing your wetness on his fingers as he fucks you, then giving your clit a quick rub. Your body jolts feeling a hot course of electricity zing through you. Your eyes close on their own accord, you feel dizzy from the sensations. You can hear sucking noises like he was tasting you on his fingers. Your head falls back with a cry at the thought, a stinging sensation of tears welling up in your eyes surprising you. One tear escapes when you open your eyes again, sliding from your cheek to your jaw and he leans down to kiss you.

"Why you crying?" He whispers, and for a moment you think he's being genuine, but he follows up the question with a deep chuckle. "The dick too good, ma?" He laughs against your mouth, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes flutter open and get trapped in his deep brown ones. Everything about him is hypnotic and mesmerizing, even as he's driving you crazy. He stares you down, hips thrusting passionately in and out of you, hands cupped around your waist to push you on him more.

"You so fucking beautiful, lil daredevil," he confesses. "I might just keep you around."

Another jolt of pleasure flows through you. He kisses your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, all down to your neck where he rested his head on you, peppering you with fervent, sloppy kisses.

Your body convulses, driven to its breaking point and ready to release all the tension that'd been building. You shake, holding onto his shoulders, scratching your fingers down his scars in the heat of pleasure.

" _Fuck_ ," you moan. "I'm gonna cum."

That's when he pulls out.

"What? Nah, none of that. I ain't forget that shit you said on the couch, you got me fucked up." He pulls and twists you around on the bed so you're face down instead. "On your knees."

It's wobbly, but you slowly ascend to your knees, presenting yourself to him. He hums his approval, then smacks your ass so hard you almost fall back to the bed. He laughs as you shakily regain your footing.

"You like that?" He asks. "You like when Daddy smacks that ass?"

You whimper in response, nodding frantically.

"Say you like it." His palm cracks on your ass again and you moan shamelessly, trying to back yourself into his touch. He rubs the stinging spot on your ass as you gather the courage to speak. You really didn't wanna call him that, but the less rational part of you, the wreck of a girl begging for his dick feels very differently.

"I like when you spank me, Daddy." You stutter out, but it's enough for him because he shoves his dick back into you without another word. His hips smack against your ass lewdly and the pace only gets faster the more you moan.

"Yeah? You gon' throw that ass back for Daddy?" He asks, slapping your ass repeatedly until you start pushing back against him. He groaned seeing you fuck yourself on him, yelling and panting for more.

"Please!" You finally shouted.

You screamed for him to let you come, but he continued denying you, mocking you. You could feel the pleasure building to its highest point, making you squirm out of his vice grip and vibrate out of your control. He pulled you back in, hooking his big arms around your body so that you stayed put.

"Stop fucking running from me, take this dick." He grunted and you genuinely clawed at his sheets trying to let up on his rough thrusting. You could hear how wet you were with every thrust, a fast rhythm that your body couldn't keep up with anymore. "Yeah, that's it, baby, you like that?"

"Yes! Please, let me cum, please!" You begged with tears forming in your eyes. Your body was giving out on you, aching and burning under his command.

"Fuck no. Tell me who owns this pussy."

"You! You do! Please, Daddy, please, I'll be good!" You cry. He slaps your ass cheek hard and you arch back feeling overstimulated. "I can't do it, I can't!" You cry, then try to crawl away again, needing to be released from his endless cycle of pleasure-pain, but his hands keep you stuck in one place.

"What's wrong, is it too much for my lil daredevil?" He asks teasingly. Hot tears run down your face as his dick hits your most sensitive spots.

"Yes!" You scream, throat stinging because of your abused vocal chords.

"I thought you liked this shit. I thought you said I couldn't make you cum." He punctuates his words with sharp thrusts.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you can! You can! Please! Please!"

He pulls you up to him, hand wrapped firmly around your throat. His chin is tucked into your shoulder, his breath warm and faintly smelling of mint. "I should just pull out and leave you like this." He threatens, uncaring of the cries coming out your mouth. "So fucking disrespectful." He slowly pulls out, causing you to whine.

"You think you deserve to cum?"

You weren't even sure you were forming real words anymore, you have swept away in such an intense vibrating pleasure that left you a quivering, sputtering wreck. His hand squeezes your neck just a little tighter, pushing you, and your senses begin dying out, leaving you with the rapid pounding of your heartbeat and blurry vision. It was like when you'd first seen him, how everything else faded into the background, how he stole your attention from anything else. His belittling words were muffled in the background as you focused all your energy on not climaxing before he told you so. You were floating through time and space, new tears falling to replace your dried ones, muscles burning from the position changes, ears ringing in the sweetest way possible.

His lips are flush against your ear when you finally, _finally_ , hear what you've wanted to hear all night.

"Fuck, baby, cum on this dick. _Now_."

He slams back into you shamelessly and you're done for. You screamed as the line between pain and pleasure blurred dangerously close, then erupted into euphoria. Your pussy clenched around him tighter than ever, making him moan as audaciously as you were. He started thrusting faster, reaching his own orgasm as you melted through yours feeling your juices running down your thighs.

" _Fuck_ , I'm 'bout to bust all in your pussy, baby." He warns.

"Do it, I want your cum inside me. Please, Daddy." You beg between pants. He climaxes with a loud grunt, whispering something about you being such a good girl. You fall to the bed, him following along after you on your back. The world went black and the last thing you remember before sinking into the deepest sleep of your life was him wrapping his arms around you and kissing your forehead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made y'all wait for this because I am terrible at smut, but I fought through my own awkwardness for you hoes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for telling me I don't suck, y'all! This one's for you.

You were untangling yourself from the most satisfying night you've ever had, carefully and slowly pushing yourself off from the sleeping body beneath you. As gentle as you could muster, your toes hit the hardwood floor to stabilize you, and you stood completely up, staring down quite intensely to make sure an eye didn't begin to twitch open. When he didn't so much as move, you let out a quiet sigh of relief then slid your underwear back on. 

There wasn't enough mental preparation in the world to get you ready for your walk of shame, which will potentially be the most shameful walk you've ever had. In the sluttiest dress you own and your god-forsaken five-inch heels, you'd have to high-tail it all the way back into town, somehow without feeling like some messy tramp. You had to call an Uber before your sex buddy started regaining consciousness.

 **Call**! Dammit. Your phone hasn't been charging. 

You bite your lips to stop from squealing your frustration. You were so worried about getting dicked down that you'd forgotten to charge your phone. But where even was your purse? You tip-toed around his king-size, searching for your purse that had to be somewhere around here. You try to retrace your steps, thinking of the last time you saw your purse and it's slightly fuzzy but you can just make out the exact thing that made you forget about your purse.

_My lil daredevil._

When he first whispered those words to you, adding his claim to you through a mocking nickname and smiling so softly at you after planted such an innocent kiss to your temple, you almost mentally checked out for the night. In that odd one-off moment, you had forgotten to pick your purse from the floor of the passenger seat, probably too eager to chase after him. This puts a huge damper on your plans to sneak out unless you can find his keys and get it yourself. You're pretty sure you saw him tossing his keys on the living room table when you first walked in. You could sneak out, get your purse, sneak back in, charge your phone, and then leave. Anything to get out of the awkwardness of talking after everything has already been said and done. Anxious to put your stupid plan in motion, you pick your club dress up, wriggle it on, and start tip-toeing out of his room.

"Forgot your shoes, shorty."

You freeze. As if holding still turns you invisible. Huffing, you spin around with a sheepish look. He's sitting up in the bed smirking at you.

"You really ain't slick. I been sitting here watching you try to leave for, like, five minutes." 

Defeated, you fall from your tippy toes and make it a point to stomp your feet while walking back over to pick up your neglected heels. He seemed to be finding endless amusement from your failed attempt, chuckling to himself as he addressed you. You rolled your eyes as you pulled the heels on your feet. His eyes follow your movements, lingering on your legs for a second too long before cutting back up to your eyes. 

"I left my purse in your car." You explain. His expression doesn't change, however, he's still laser-focused on giving your body lasting looks, licking his lips. You clap to get his attention. " _My purse._ Get up and unlock your car so I can get my purse."

He looks confused for a moment, then gains an all-knowing look that makes you want to punch him. 

"You real eager to leave." He comments flippantly as if you didn't tell his ass to unlock his car for you. You cross your arms and glare.

"So? Don't act like you wouldn't be kicking me out right now had I decided to sleep in. I'm taking initiative and seeing myself out." 

"So, you leaving because you think _I_ want you to leave?" He asks.

"What's with all this fuss? I thought one-night-stands were more straight-forward. Quick. Get in, get out." You try to explain through frantic hand gestures. He wasn't supposed to make things all weird and complicated. You knew what you were getting into when you first saw him and nothing about this arrangement was about staying for longer than necessary, even if he was mind-blowing in bed.

Look at his mansion house and sports car and exclusive ass clique. There's no way that you two could ever coexist outside of mutual sexual frustration and, to be honest, you doubt he'd ever even want a relationship to go further than that. You remembered telling yourself to not get attached when you first jumped in his car because that's something that comes surprisingly easy for you. 

He smirked at you then leaned back against his headboard, shrugging. "If that's how you wanna do it."

You stared him down, refusing to play into whatever mind-game he was starting. He stared right back, unblinking and still as smug as ever. Man, he's so much more annoying when you aren't drunk and horny. He took your silence in stride, then, to further this mind-game, gave an obnoxious stretch (groaning and all) that showcased his arm muscles. You wanted to hate it, but your body betrayed you big time and that's what made you finally break the silence.

You sigh. "What's that 'sposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. I'm letting you control this whole situation however you see fit. I know how much you love to act like you're in charge." He states, knowing just how easily that sentence could rile you up. Your teeth clench.

"There is no ' _situation_ '! We met, we fucked, now we never have to see each other again. That's how this works, that's how it has always worked!" You shout, angered by his clear nonchalance and notion that he has your entire personality pinned down. His laughing only makes it worse.

He lifts his hand from the blanket, revealing his car keys. "A'ight, baby, chill. I'll unlock the car...soon as I put some clothes on." He teases.

"Give _me_ your keys, I'll do it my damn self." You jump back onto the bed, reaching to snatch the keys out his hand, but he pulls his arm back which makes you fall on him. He laughs at your attempts to swipe the keys from his hand, then holds your waist down on him so you couldn't move any further away. In a huff, you glare down at him to curse him out again, but his eyes are focused on your lips. You blush, already beginning to feel your lower region completely betray your plans. If he wanted to, he could move up a couple inches and kiss you, but instead, he stared at you as you gradually stopped struggling for the keys.

Your arms stopped reaching for his, slowly, hands ending up on his shoulders instead. Then, his brown eyes, lightened by the morning sun, met your own and time felt stilled once again. He had something magnetic about him that consistently made you want more, something you'd been trying to avoid since you woke up, but it's all out in the open now as you lay on top of him gazing into his eyes. His heartbeat was steady, but you knew he could feel yours begin to quicken, thumping harshly and out of time. Last night was everything you needed and more, everything you'd been searching for in a man sexually and he acted like it was nothing to him, like he did stuff like that all the time. Meanwhile, you couldn't get the picture of him stroking you while whispering your name under his breath out of your mind. That's why you had to leave.

His arm relaxed, dropping his car keys on the bed beside your bodies. You didn't even glance at it.

"Gon' head," he whispers in that raspy morning voice. "I thought you couldn't wait to leave." 

He's so manipulative. You don't speak for fear that you might say the wrong thing. His hands slide from your waist to your hips, squeezing softly. You exhale shakily at his rough hands on you, lightly dropping your head to his shoulder, squeezing his arms to stop yourself from giving him everything.

"You wanna leave this?" He pushes you down on his morning wood. A short gasp escapes your mouth and is muffled by his skin. "Answer me, baby."

You shake your head automatically. "No."

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, you're being flipped and restrained to the bed. He's on top of you with a wicked smirk and that damned crazy look in his eyes that gets you wet every time. Everything is moving too fast, you close your eyes to try and snap yourself out of his control.

"This is ridiculous," you mutter aloud to yourself. Erik chuckled at your commentary, then his mouth was on your neck, kissing down to your clavicle without stopping as he moved his body down yours. You glance down at him, focusing on the top of his head as he descends past your stomach. "If you think this gon' get me to make you breakfast, you really don't know me." 

He looks up, bored. "You want me to stop?"

"I ain't say all that." 

"Okay, then shut the fuck up and let me give you this tongue."

He pulled your dress up and scoffed when he saw you lacies blocking him from you. You felt pressure, then a sharp ripping sound made you move up on your elbows to see what was going on down there. He flung the broken pieces of your underwear behind him and your mouth hung open in shock.

"Nigga, I know you didn't just --" the look in his eyes is what cut you off. You glared back, making a show out of zipping your mouth shut and gesturing for him to get on with it.

You blink and he's suddenly kneeling on the floor beside the bed, that unrestrained smug look in his eyes. He reaches, grabbing you by the hips and dragging you across the mattress to his face. Your heart speeds as he adjusts himself in front of you, then pulls your legs up to rest on his broad shoulders. He gives you a wink and licks his lips before lowering down to you. The anticipation is hellish, causing you to squirm uncomfortably and gulp nervously, watching impatiently as he playfully licks at your inner thighs. He switches to your other thigh and gives it a teasing bite, looking up at you with clouded eyes. 

He begins kissing upwards, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses on your thighs as he starts getting to the place you need him most. He's taking his sweet time, taking a few seconds to look back up at your lust-clouded gaze before continuing on in his route. As predicted, his stubble rubbing on your skin makes you hotter than ever and tempts you to grind up into him. You reach down to try pulling him in by his hair, but all it does is make him groan into your leg, teeth snapping on your thigh again.

"You want me to beg, don't you?" You ask, exasperated.

"You know the drill, shorty."

It's a little early for you to be acting up for this man, but you swallow your pride. "Please." You whisper. He huffs a laugh against your thigh.

"That was dry, unlike this pussy right now, so I suggest you really convince me before I decide that you good."

"No, no, no, no, _okay damn_!" You say frantically. "Please, I need to feel your tongue on my pussy. Please, Daddy, I want you to fuck me with your tongue."

" _Shit_ , that's more like it," he lowers his head and presses a soft kiss against your lips. Your breath catches, holding tight to your lungs as you watch his mouth envelope you and his tongue darting out to lick. Your fingers clench around his hair, yanking probably rougher than necessary, but that only makes him more eager to lick.

You gasp out a string of profanities as his tongue starts lapping at your clit, gliding effortlessly with a speed and precision you've never felt before. Your left-hand claws at the bed as your right one stays firm and secure in his dreads, pulling him impossibly closer to you. Each sensation was something new - a lick, a kiss, a suck, everything to make you lose your mind underneath him. You can't help but rub his head, massaging him as he moved from your clit down to your labia, licking indecently as he did. He hummed his approval at your attention to his scalp. 

His tongue pushing into you is what made your back arch from the bed and grind shamelessly into his face. His hand slaps your outer thigh and it stings like a bitch.

"Stop fucking moving." He growls. You whine and try your hardest to still your twitching body, but it's a damn hard task when he's eating you like you're his last meal and shit. He hits a sensitive spot and you spasm, locking your legs tighter around his head and accidentally grinding. He pushes you back down and untangles himself from your legs.

"Wait, _no_ , I couldn't control that shit! Where you going?!" You ask in short huffs as he stands up. You try to wrap your legs around his waist but he pushes you off and wrestles his way onto your body, sitting in such a way so that your legs are closed and rubbing against each other. You can feel your wetness sliding down your thighs, getting cold and sticky. His hand slithers up past your stomach, briefly stopping to squeeze your tits, then wandering to your exposed neck. He held you under him lightly, provoking you, glaring at you with fire behind his lusty eyes. You tried rubbing your thighs together to get more friction, but that only made his hand tighter around you. He leaned down so that you two were face-to-face, foreheads almost bumping.

"When I tell you to do something for me, I _mean_ that shit." He snarls. That sentence alone almost made you cum. 

You nod anxiously. "Okay. I'll listen, I promise." He slowly lets up on you, sliding to the side of you and allowing your legs to partially open. You exhale your relief. 

"Open your mouth." He commands. You follow his order without hesitation, opening and wiggling your tongue out playfully at him. He laughs before offering you his index finger. "Get it nice and wet, ma." 

You took his finger into your mouth, sucking it suggestively while maintaining his eye-contact. He moans, pushing it further down your throat as you lick and suck at it like it's his dick. He pushes a second finger in, obviously getting worked up over you fellating his hand.

"Fuck, you like that shit, don't you? Goddamn." He removes his fingers from your yearning mouth, dropping down to rub your pussy again. You jolt at the sudden intrusion and moan carelessly. He leans closer to you and you feel his lips kissing your shoulder from beside you as his fingers keep working you up. You cry his name, moaning incomprehensibly as his fingers thrust into you so ravenously that you vibrate from head to toe. He doesn't mind the moving this time, still kissing along your shoulder and neck, whispering words of encouragement.

You're severely overwhelmed, you feel your orgasm trying to rip through you with every sharp thrust he gives you. You turn to meet his kisses. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you can taste yourself on him, it's the most erotic thing you've ever experienced. 

"Play with them tits, baby," he pulls away to whisper. You whine, humping against his hand helplessly while grabbing your chest and squeezing. His moans in your ear only intensify the escapade, leaving you hanging desperately on the edge of your climax. 

You whimper. "I'm gonna cum." You turn to him. "Can I?" You hope your eyes display how badly you want this, hope to pull at some sympathy strings in him. 

"I like that you asked," he comments, giving you such a proud feeling inside. Finally. "But, no."

You almost scream, trying to squirm away from his fingers still plunging inside you. He chuckles, then grants you relief by moving his fingers out of you. You didn't know whether to thank him or punch him in the face. He pulled you closer to the middle of his bed, then positioned himself between your legs. You had no idea when he had ditched his briefs, but through your teary vision, you could see that he was naked and stroking himself between your legs.

He presses himself into you with one solid stroke, causing you to gasp out his name. You weren't gonna last long, you could tell that much within the first second of him inside you. He had you wrap your legs around his back as he thrust into your pussy, groaning at how much you were clenching on him. In a complete moment of weakness, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss you again. He kisses you back harder, roughly sliding in and out of you.

"Oh, fuck! Don't stop! Right there!" You gasp against his lips as his thrusting quickens, hips slapping into you with vigor. "Harder, Daddy, please!" His mouth twists into a sly grin and you can see all of his muscles contracting as he thrusts into you so hard that your eyes roll back.

"Yeah, right _there_? You want it right there, baby? Fuck."

You buck into him, clutching him tightly as you lose yourself in the pleasure. His hand attached to your clit again, rubbing gently as you both slammed into each other. You couldn't contain it anymore, so you shouted your warning.

"It's alright, let it go. Cum on this dick." 

Your orgasm hits you in a violent wave, shocking you into complete stillness as he continues stroking. Your heartbeat fills your ears and it's hard to focus on anything, so you close your eyes and enjoy the bliss. Faintly, you think you hear him speaking a different language as he twitches inside of you, cumming just seconds after you. He slumps down on you for a moment, then moves back to your lips, attacking you with a filthy, satisfied kiss. 

You hope he doesn't feel the goofy grin on your face, but you could feel the sides of his lips upturn slowly as he keeps kissing you. He pulls away, still smiling, and you feel your stomach flutter in the sweetest way. He pecks the side of your mouth, teasing.

"You still never wanna see me again?" He asks, already knowing the answer but deciding to mess with you. You laugh incredulously as he starts peppering you with kisses all over your face and your neck. 

"Stop it!" You giggle, lightly smacking his back. "A'ight, I get it! Maybe I...jumped the gun on that one. I was just following one-night-stand etiquette."

"You ain't no damn one-night-stand. Stop saying that shit." He says. You blush, still feeling like he was just running game. You were about to say as much before a loud buzzing noise interrupted your train of thought. "Damn it." Erik pulled out of you and rolled over to where his dresser was, reaching for the vibrating phone.

"Nigga, what do you want? You know damn well I don't take calls this early."

Your eyes blinked in surprise at how he greeted his friends, then you snickered a bit under your breath because you talked to your friends exactly the same way.

"Damn, that's this week?" You felt him shifting to sit up beside you. He sighed as he listened to whoever was on the other line, obviously yelling at him. "Hold up. Who all coming?"

Even you could hear the irritated sigh from the other line. A few seconds of explaining passed, in which he went through a process of sucking his teeth and grunting.

"Fuck no. Tell Bak he can take all them badass kids to a hotel, this ain't the Holiday Inn, nigga." Erik's voice started getting louder, but it still held a semblance of post-sex rasp to it that made you blush into your pillow. "I don't give a fuck, he ain't ever did shit for me." He rolls his eyes at whoever's talking. "Can we talk about this later, T? Damn."

You realize with horror that you're watching him speak on the phone with a smile on your face. You knew you should've just ignored him and left when you had the chance, but instead, you played right into his little game and now you might be growing stupid feelings. You still weren't entirely positive about why he stopped you from leaving, that should've been every guy's fantasy morning after and Erik didn't seem exempt from that category of men. 

"Real shit? A'ight...right _now_? Shit, okay, I'll see you in a lil bit." He ended the call with a whisper of _'bitch ass nigga'_ , then turned back around to you. "You might wanna put on some clothes, my cousin 'bout to drop in."

"You couldn't tell him to wait 'til I was gone?" You ask as you watch him get up and slide his briefs back up. 

"You high-key don't be listening to me. You're _not_ _leaving_ right now." He passes the bed and heads through his bedroom doors without explaining where he was going, leaving you on the bed guessing everything.

"Nigga, this is called _kidnapping_! Ay, bring that ass back here!" You shout at him, hopping out of bed. You almost fall on your face, though, because your legs are aching from the sex. "Shit! Fuck," you mutter once your leg muscles start cramping. "Nigga better buy me some Epsom salt, this shit ain't no joke." You whisper.

He peaks his head back in to see you fail. "Oh, before I forget and you get mad, my cousin is the King of Wakanda." He leaves back out, leaving you even more confused than before.

"Huh?! Wait, hold up!" You yell, still getting your damn footing together to chase after him. "I didn't sign up for this!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, this wasn't supposed to have another sex scene, but...I blacked out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all got enough smut out of me, here's some fluff and angst.

You rolled up the oversized sweatpants on your hips, folding the waistband over a few times so the material didn't drag under your feet. The jersey hanging loosely on your body, you tucked into the sweatpants so that it wouldn't look like a dress. He had the good grace to let you shower, providing you with toiletries and hair-care products that he said you were in dire need of. You squinted at his bold use of the word _dire_. If your hair was fucked up, it was his fault for ruining all the time you took to install your expensive ass wig. He had stumbled through the bathroom door with an armful of random hair products, saying something about his cousin needing to stop leaving her shit everywhere.

You were just about done fixing your hair when you heard a door slamming and then a chorus of ' _ayy's._

You thought he was joking about the cousin thing, at first. For ten whole minutes, you laughed at him, rolling your eyes and hitting his shoulder insisting that he stop playing with you. But the proof was in the mysterious neon blue tattoo inside his mouth, the Wakandan letters sticking out and shocking you. You remembered watching the news on the day that King T'Challa announced the real treasures that lied within Wakanda, the vibranium and money, and brilliance. Then, you started reading up on Wakanda more, desperate to learn the customs and cultures that you otherwise wouldn't usually be interested in. You wondered if any of your family had somehow survived peacefully in the country if there was a separation between anyone while the slave trade happening. You'd often be around the new resource centers that they placed in Oakland, learning and sometimes just watching.

Now you're about to meet King T'Challa, the Black Panther, in huge sweatpants and without makeup.

Hesitantly, you tip-toe out of the bathroom, looking left and right through the huge hallway, then following the distinct sound of bickering. Your heart raced faster the closer you came to the disembodied voices, the more clearly you could hear that beautiful accent that you've only heard on television. As you continued down the hallway, you came to an opening which led to the largest, most lush kitchen you've ever seen. But you couldn't appreciate it now as your hands were shaking and the beginnings of sweat began to form in the pores of your forehead.

You could see the backs of their heads from your place in the hallway, sitting on the kitchen stools talking about God knows what. He's shorter than Erik, but he radiates this undeniable power, this authority that's as gentle and kind as it is biting and firm. You're stunned at his casual wear - a denim jacket with a black v-neck and basic jeans with black Jordans.

You were so lost in your analyzation of T'Challa that you didn't hear Erik say your name. He called you again, louder, and you jumped, almost bumping your head into the wall.

"You need to learn to be more sneaky, this shit getting embarrassing," he comments off-handedly as you get yourself together and walk into the kitchen, eyes stuck to T'Challa who was already staring at you. Awkwardly, and because you don't have a single clue as to how you could address him, your arms cross over your chest. The king laughs at you, mimicking your salute before sticking his hand out for you.

"Pleased to meet you." He says. The smile on your face is so big that it hurts. You rush to put your hand in his, shaking firmly, hoping he doesn't acknowledge sweaty palms.

"Likewise, Your Highness." You gush. He chuckles more at the obvious fangirling you were doing. Distantly, you think you hear Erik suck his teeth.

"It's okay. You can call me T'Challa." He takes his hand back once realizing you weren't eager to stop holding his.

"Okay, T'Challa. I don't mean to interrupt your conversation or anything, but there's just so much I want to ask you and talk to you about, ever since I first --"

Erik clears his throat too loudly. You ignore him.

" -- Since I first saw you on the news as the Black Panther fighting against --"

Hands grip your waist and pull you away from T'Challa. You finally break and glare at Erik. He looks mildly annoyed.

"Please, ignore his silly antics, I imagine it cannot be esteeming for him that your beautiful eyes have not yet given its full attention to his whining." T'Challa jokes. You blush pitifully, purposely avoiding Erik's eyes on you as you're blatantly flustered over his cousin.

"Nigga, watch your mouth. You may be the king, but you can still catch these hands."

T'Challa turns to you, smirking. "He thinks he's intimidating because he _almost_ threw me off a waterfall."

Your eyes widen. _Okay, family issues on one thousand._

"And I could've if I wanted to! Don't forget that shit. Flip-flop wearing ass bitch."

"I'm wearing sneakers!"

"Because you know I banned yo ashy ass feet from this house. Don't even think about taking them shits off, bro."

You're standing awkwardly in the middle of their bickering, so you carefully slide away towards the refrigerator. It's stainless steel and stocked to the brim, of course. You turn back to the island where they're still arguing.

"T'Challa," you call sweetly. He turns with a smile. "Would you like a drink?" You ask, gesturing to all the options inside the fridge. T'Challa places his hand over his heart dramatically.

"You have shown me more hospitality than 'Erik' here ever has, probably in his life." He gets muffed on his head by an annoyed Erik. "No thank you, beautiful, I should be on my way now, actually. Shuri wants to visit some amusement park."

"A'ight, bro. Tell Ri-Ri to bring me back a funnel cake."

They give each other a brief side-hug, in which you hear T'Challa whisper something in Xhosa to him. His eyes flicker to yours and back again, saying something else with a smile. He may be the king and all but this switching language has you feeling targeted. You realize that you were right when you suspected him speaking in a different language in bed, he's Wakandan, of course, he knows Xhosa. Erik replies out loud, so you could hear.

"Esi si cwangciso." He winks at you and you know it's just to rile you up because you don't understand him. You eye him suspiciously because he has that look on his face, the one that screams _'I know better than you'_ , the one that made you want to kick his ass.

"Ndiyayithanda. Musa ukuphazamisa oku." T'Challa says, then walks over to give you a hug as well. You gladly accept though you're a bit wary because they could be talking about anything. "Hopefully, I'll see you again." He says and gets another blush out of you.

"I hope so."

"Okay, damn, get the fuck out." Erik sneers, interrupting yet another moment that you wanted to have with your literal hero. T'Challa rolled his eyes at him, waving you goodbye as he left the kitchen. You stared after him in awe, never breaking from your stupor until the front door shuts closed. When you finally relax and turn around, Erik is glaring at you.

"If I had known you had this weird hero worship thing with him, I would've told his ass I wasn't home." He comments. Your mind is still reeling.

" _How_ are you two related? He's so..." You begin, then decide to let the thought fade out of existence once you see his expression. "It's not like I'm tryna flirt with him or anything," you walk up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't look too convinced, which was ridiculous considering you've let him keep you at his house after what was supposed to be a one-night-stand, you're wearing his large clothes around his house, and you've held your tongue multiples times when you had the opportunity to curse him out. What kind of girl would do all of that just to flirt with his cousin a couple hours afterward? Judging by the suspicious look on his face, apparently a **few** girls.

"Really?"

"Of course not, Erik. I wouldn't flirt with him right in front of you, I was waiting for you to use the bathroom or something!" You joke, laughing at his betrayed face. He tries to grab you but you run out of his reach. "I'm playin', c'mon! Trust me, if I wanted T'Challa instead of you, I'd be out that door following him. You know I'm not one to waste an opportunity."

"You was smiling a lil too hard."

"He's a king!" You justify. There's no way he expected you to mindlessly accept the fact that you were in the presence of black royalty. He's lucky you didn't ask for a picture like you really wanted to do.

"So? I'm a prince. You ain't trippin' over that."

"Aww," you settle closer to him and pinch his cheeks, "T'Challa was right, you just want a little attention." He flicks your teasing hands away from him.

"Attention? You couldn't ignore me if you tried." He pulled you in for a kiss. You smiled into the kiss before pulling away. It's like you had completely forgotten about all your plans on leaving, deciding to enjoy your time with him as long as possible. "That reminds me. I left your phone on the end table in my room. It's charging."

You laugh, pulling him back to your lips. The kiss lasts a few seconds, but it's sweet and solid. "I'll let it charge then. Tell me about you and T'Challa."

"Long complicated story." He huffs, looking too put off just by the mention of it to even dig into whatever happened. You shrug and move to sit on the stool beside him.

"Give me the short uncomplicated version. You can't just parade your royal superhero cousin around and not say anything. I don't care about the weird waterfall business, gimme the good stuff."

He looks away, hiding a soft smile, then turns back. "Okay. Good stuff only."

You lock into him as he begins his story, hanging onto his every word, filling in the blanks as well as you could. He spoke of his brief American life in the slums of Oakland before being taken to a place he's only ever fantasized about, being granted his fairy tale life and moving into the royal palace of Wakanda at only seven years old. He didn't linger on specifics, like his parents or his relationship with the previous King T'Chaka. He spoke of the mutual hatred that he and T'Challa shared for his first couple of years in Wakanda, how T'Challa was this spoiled brat that knew nothing of real pain. He didn't elaborate on that pain. They eventually grew on each other, though obviously the bickering never stopped, and as the years went on in Wakanda, Erik began feeling more and more like an outsider. He left when he turned eighteen, returning to America to attend MIT. Instead of returning to Wakanda, he joined the Navy Seals - for reasons he also didn't enlighten you on.

"And, what, you just decided to link up again after all those years?" You ask. He shrugs.

"Something like that. I told him to do more for America and...well, he opened them fucking resource centers." He scoffed, looking so personally offended that you didn't even wanna open _that_ door. "But that shit's over with. All this," he gestures around him. "It's my inheritance as the 'prince' and shit."

"It's...a lot."

"Girl, don't act like you'd know what to do with millions of dollars in ya bank account. Probably fuck around and buy the entire section at Yves Saint Laurant because you can."

Oddly specific. " _Is that what you did_?" You laugh at his guilty face.

"Mind ya business." He replies, but you're already standing up and pulling him towards his bedroom.

"Oh, my God! Show me your closet, I gotta see if you really this damn foolish." He reverses the directions you're going in, pulling you this time.

"Nah, my bedroom closet is my everyday clothes. I keep my good stuff upstairs." He smirks and you squeal happily.

"You rich ass motherfucker! Two closets? Fuck you, oh my God."

"Hate is an ugly emotion, baby girl." He teases, which you hit him for. He drags you to the staircase that you noticed when first walking into the house and starts rushing up.

"Nigga, ain't nobody hating on you..." you say, but even you hear the obvious lie. "Okay, maybe a little bit. But you have two closets!"

"Three." He mutters under his breath but you still catch it and kind of want to kick him. Once you reach the top of the staircase, the hall splits three ways, but he continues pulling you forward to the middle. He guides you through a wide marble tiled hallway, stopping at the third door down. This door was different than the rest, it was doubled and had frosted glass with a golden lining around it. He opens it and you stand there slack-jawed.

You could barely call it a walk-in closet. Does it even count as a walk-in closet if the entire room is a closet? Another chandelier dangled in the middle of the room, shining down on a variety of shelves, cabinets, drawers, and mirrors. You walk in after him, admiring how tidy everything was. He must have a maid around somewhere because this house seems to be spotless in every nook and cranny. He opens a random drawer, revealing a collection of watches all lined up inside, all of them either Rolex or Cartier and glittering like the inside of a treasure chest.

You squint up at him once a certain thought crosses your mind. "I bet your third closet ain't nothing but shoes." You accuse, knowing just how niggas like him think. He has a goofy smile on his face that highlights the gold caps in his bottom row of teeth as well as those dimples you like so much.

"You already know. But that baby sealed with a vibranium forcefield and it only opens to my voice." He explains and you roll your eyes. Too much, as usual.

"This whole place is ridiculous." You mention as you walk towards his shelves, inspecting the folded stacks of dress shirts and varieties of ties.

"Oh, this ain't even half of it."

"For the love of God, do not show me the rest of this house, I will never fucking leave. _Seriously_. You'll get sick of me." You chuckle at the idea of just up and settling in one of his many rooms.

"How you livin' now?" He asks, his voice is much closer to you than before.

"Uncomfortably cramped with my two best friends in an apartment. The ones you referred to as 'sloppy'. That's Casey and Aaliyah. We've been together since grade school." You confess. He doesn't know much about your personal life, and after hearing all about his crazy one, you doubt he'd be interested enough to ask. Just thinking of your girls made you anxious to talk to them again and tell them about your day. You had an itch for your phone again. You turn around to tell him as much only to jump back in surprise at him being right behind you. He steadies you and shakes his head in amusement.

"I'll drive you back." He offers.

"Thanks, but you don't have to."

"It wasn't a question."

He spoke to you like certain things were a given like this was normal. It seemed all too good, especially with your track record of men. You didn't want to get too real with him only knowing him for less than a day, but you needed to know why he was acting like this, allowing you to invade his personal space and hear about his otherwise disclosed life. So, in a moment of insecurity, you look up at him with curious eyes and a stone-faced gaze.

"Erik. Why are you being so nice to me?"

He recoils at the question, visibly confused.

"I'm being nice?" He says the word like he's never heard it before in his life. You cross your arms.

"Yeah. I'm not gonna cry if you kick me out if that's why you're afraid of."

"Damn, do niggas be kicking you out?"

You continue on, ignoring his question. "I know you aren't nice, I can tell. You don't have to pretend with me to uphold whatever royal image you're trying to keep." You go on.

"Okay, you've obviously dealt with some 'ain't shit' niggas. I understand that. What I don't understand is why are you questioning a good thing?"

"Because it's too good." You reply too quickly. He smirks, sliding in closer to you.

"Oh, I'm too good?" He licks his lips. You groan, silently wishing he'd stop being so cute. His arms snake around your middle and pull you into his body. "I never heard a girl _complain_ that I'm too good."

"You know that's not what I meant." You pout, staring up at him. He leans down to kiss your pouty lips.

"You never know when to shut up and let things happen." He responds. The comment stings a little because it's true and you know he's right. You sigh and wrap your arms around him, too.

"Only when I'm drunk." You snort.

"We could fix that with one trip to the kitchen," he suggests and you slap him away from you.

"Hell no, I'm not drinking ever again...until next week." He shakes his head at you. "C'mon, take me home. I'm not paying for your premium ass gas. In fact, you owe **me** money for ruining my underwear."

"Mhmm. How much you want, baby?" He asks, backing you into one of his dressers. You slightly hesitate at the mention of a specific prince. You've never been put in the position to ask someone for money and, in a way, it felt wrong, like you shouldn't take anything from him. But he'd only insist if you didn't answer him. He noticed your awkward inner conflict and lent down to kiss your neck. "Let things happen." He whispers before swiping his tongue against your skin.

"They were really expensive, daddy," you moan out indecently as his hands move down to grab your ass.

"Bout a hunnid?" He asks, pulling you up to sit on his dresser as he kissed your neck. You shake your head, smiling.

"Five." You state boldly, half expecting some type of uproar. He just hums in approval, pulling the large jersey out from its tucked place in the rolled sweatpants. His hands slip inside the shirt, feeling up your stomach to your chest.

"Five hunnid? A'ight, show me how much you want it." He orders you and you two quickly fall back into your cycle of sex, except this time he was fucking you on top of thousands of dollars worth of clothes and jewelry, which somehow made it even hotter.

 

* * *

 

 

The drive back home was faster than you would've liked. You and Erik had been having a good time rapping along to his old school rap playlist. He was even somewhat impressed with your extensive knowledge of old school rap. When the car stopped in front of your apartment complex, you huffed and turned to him.

"This is me." You state. He nods. "I guess, I'll see you later?" You ask him.

"Definitely."

He grabs you by your neck and pulls you into him across the armrest, giving you a deep, passionate kiss that leaves you breathless. You almost don't wanna pull away, but you have to get back home, so you slowly come up for air and rest your forehead against his.

"Getcho fine ass outta here before I change my mind." He threatens. You smile as you unbuckle yourself and exit the car. He waits until you're through the front door of the apartment complex before driving away and you're left with a permanent smile on your face and fresh hundred dollar bills stuffed in your purse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Google Translate.
> 
> Esi si cwangciso - That's the plan.  
> Ndiyayithanda. Musa ukuphazamisa oku. - I like this girl. Do not ruin this.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back like I never left.

"Bitch, start talking!"

You jump at the loud voice, then groan, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you continue ambling through the kitchen. The last thing you needed to hear at the crack of dawn was Aaliyah Richmond and her country ass deep accusatory voice shouting at you. You had successfully avoided her when you got in last night since she was too busy yelling at her boyfriend over the phone to even acknowledge that you were, in fact, alive and well, but now that some time has passed it's only inevitable that she starts grilling you. You pull down your favorite coffee mug, the one with the Captain America shields on it, and turn towards Aaliyah - arms folded in front of her chest, glaring at you with those amber eyes.

"It's too early to talk, ho." You grumble, then quickly get back to working the coffee brewer. You hear her open the fridge and grab the water jug, sloshing it around before uncapping it. "Maybe if you hadn't been yelling at your cracker on the phone last night..." you trail off, smiling a little bit. Aaliyah started dating Clayton a few months back and she's yet to hear the end of you and Casey referring to him as 'her cracker'. She had to expect this with a name like Clayton. He was a dirty blonde surfer looking guy with green eyes and a heartbreaking smile, plus he stood about one foot higher than Aaliyah's short ass, so she was smitten from the start. You've been around Clayton enough to know that he's generally a nice guy, albeit a little clueless as to how to hold conversations with black women without mentioning hair.

"Well, _my cracker_ had me fucked up last night." She sighed. You could hear her trying to sound typically angry, but her tone wavered too much, her voice lowered too quickly, and you knew that sound all too well.

"Do I have to kill him?" You ask casually, pouring your coffee into the mug, adding some cream and sugar.

"I don't know yet." She says, deflated. You turn back to her and frown. "Let's not even get into all that, girl, I wanna know how you pulled a nigga that drives a Bugatti Chiron. I saw you pulling up wearing his baggy ass clothes, limping up the stairs like your back was blown the fuck out. Stop playing and give me the tea, bitch!"

You almost spit out your coffee from laughter. "I was not limping!"

"You was a disabled ass hoe. Did you talk to Casey about it last night?" Aaliyah asks. She moves out of the kitchen space gesturing for you to follow her out into the dining room. You take a seat beside her at the small, circular wooden table and set your coffee down.

"I tried to, but her stoner ass fell asleep on me. She probably doesn't even remember half the shit I said."

"Okay, bitch, start from the very beginning. You told us to get the fuck out so you could talk to the dread-headed nigga at VIP." She reiterates, earning an eye roll from you. You sigh, then begin telling her as much as you could remember. She forced you to get into the explicit details, which is something you would've liked to keep private, but her eyes were hungry for a good story so you gave it all up. You explained his dirty kisses as well as his innocent ones, and the way he handled you like you've always wanted, how excited you grew every time he smirked just wide enough so that you'd see his gold caps, the way he kept pulling you in bed with him whenever you tried to go anywhere else. Aaliyah hung onto every word like she was watching an episode of some soap opera, nodding and gasping at all the right parts. When you explained the royal situation, she didn't speak through that at all, which was terrifying because her mouth never stays shut about anything.

"After we had sex in his closet, he took me back downstairs to the living room and we cuddled on the couch and watched a few episodes of Martin. By then, it was starting to get dark outside, so I went to get my stuff. He pulled five hundred dollars out of his wallet like it was nothing! Handed me them bills and we were on our way." You conclude the story, anxious by the vague look on Aaliyah's face. The quiet begins getting uncomfortable as you await your friend's reaction and it seems like it's never gonna come. Until she jumps on you.

You fall back and out of the chair with a scream, immediately calling for Casey as Aaliyah tackled you to the ground with a war cry. No regard for anyone's safety, this girl!

"Bitch! _Ohhhh, bitch_! You little slut!" She shouts, lightly slapping you in the process. You try to fight against her, still screaming for Casey.

"Casey! **Abuse**! **Abuse**!" You yell as Aaliyah lets out an evil cackle.

"It's love taps! Stop tripping!" She presses a wet kiss to your cheek, which you immediately wipe off in irritation. Aaliayh finally gets up and off of you, doing a little dance in the process.

"You went out and bagged a prince! This is the proudest moment of my fucking life! C'mere, bitch, give mama a hug." She opened her arms, welcoming you, but you just scoffed and stood up.

"No! Stop beating me up whenever something good happens!" You reply. She ignores that and goes in for the hug anyway, rocking you back and forth as you stood there annoyed.

"Now, I have a question." She pulls you away at arms distance with a serious expression. "It's important, so treat it as such because I don't take this shit lightly." She says. You nod for her to go on. "How did King T'Challa smell?"

You huff, but decide to throw her a bone. "Like mint leaves and cocoa butter."

Aaliyah groans, closing her eyes like she can just imagine it. "What was he wearing? I didn't get my notification from T'Challa Daily yesterday. I bet he looked good."

"He had on a denim jacket, v-neck, and jeans. Girl, he looked like a snack." You smile thinking back to when he grabbed your hand in his. Aaliayh moans.

"Couldn't've been me! I would've risked it all! You know me, I only serve **kings** , baby!" She raved, sticking her tongue out playfully. You squint, unimpressed.

"Oh, really? Explain the cracker then."

"Um! Stay outta grown folks business." She replied, looking salty. "But you got the next best thing, girl. This nigga gave you five hundred dollars? And you didn't even suck his dick? _Tuh_! Keep him forever."

Your eyes widen. Forever is a bold claim and a hell of a stretch to be thinking of when you haven't even been on one date with him. You don't know much about him besides the fact that he's a rich, overly confident prince with family issues. You can't _keep_ things that you know nothing about, that's moving too fast, but Aaliyah wouldn't get that concept since she and Clayton started looking for a place to live together one month in their relationship.

"Keep him? Leah, I just met him. I'm not really sure how I feel about him. Who knows if he's even for real about this stuff? Like, what if it's just...a game? Even you have to admit that this whole situation doesn't sound real." You reason to yourself. As exciting and satisfying as he was, you still had your doubts.

"The only reason I'm not dragging you right now is because I know you've been through a lot. But...not every guy you meet is like **Marvin**."

You still. That name gave you hives, creating the searing rage inside of you to come to the surface. You glare at your friend, not understand why she'd bring him up when you were finally feeling better.

"I told you not to say that damn name anymore." You say more harshly than you intend, but Aaliyah doesn't take offense to your tone.

"He's not Voldemort! We have to address the real shit sometimes." She explained, treading lightly around the mess that is your love life. Your ex-boyfriend isn't someone who you can just address without feeling some type of way.

"You're telling me to address real shit when you've been avoiding yours this entire time?"

She nods reluctantly. "I'll take that." Her bright eyes grow darker as they take you in. "But, my shit ain't stopping me from having a relationship with a perfect guy."

You roll your eyes. "He's not perfect."

She gave you a dry look, then shook her head. "You may be too guarded to see it, but you need someone like him right now. You look happy. You can't fool me, bitch, I know you like him." She raises a brow at you. You couldn't even disagree with her. "Now, let's go wake Casey up from her weed induced coma before she's late for work. Lord only knows how she managed to get an office job living like she's in How High." Aaliyah starts walking to the hallway that led to your bedrooms.

You followed closely behind.

"Light skin privilege." You answer with a laugh.

"You damn right." Leah huffs, then starts doing her loud ass 'mom waking the kids up for school' knock on Casey's door. "Ay! High-Yellow! Wake yo ass up before you get fired! Let's go!" She yells without stopping her knocking. You hear Casey having a fit from inside, whining and begging for a few more minutes.

"You got a class today?" You ask Aaliyah, examining her clothes. Usually, you couldn't tell her choreographer clothes from her street clothes. Aaliyah's been a dance instructor for about two years now, hosting her classes at a small studio downtown, averaging about twenty people a class. She nods.

"Hell yeah, girl, I been working on this routine all week! It's gon' get a little freaky today, actually. You should drop in and learn this shit. Impress ya man." She winks. You blush. You and Aaliyah used to dance together for fun back in high school, but it was only a hobby for you and it was Aaliyah's whole life, so naturally, she branched off into the dancing field. Sometimes, if you're in a good mood, you attend a few of her classes. Almost everyone already knows who you are and basically thinks of you as an assistant coach, but that's only when you're in the mood to dance.

"Maybe. We'll see. If I **do** end up doing some shit, it'll be a miracle because my body is still aching from yesterday." You admit with a smirk.

" _Eeeeooowwww_!" Aaliyah whines, nailing her Cardi B impression.

Casey's door flung open at the noise, revealing her pouty freckled face.

"Y'all irritate my soul!" She groans, pushing past you and Aaliyah to get to the bathroom. You ignore her attitude, knowing she's the worst morning person ever. She may be the sweetest person you've ever met, but in the morning she's pure evil. 

"Mhm. Love you too, bitch!" Aaliyah calls out, smiling. "I'm 'bout to leave, but I think you need to talk to Erik."

"I'll talk to Erik if you talk to Clayton." You try to bargain. Talking to him on the phone seemed just as awkward as talking to him after sex. You truly aren't looking for a relationship and you wish everyone could see that.

She sighs. "Clay and I will be fine, eventually. You can't use my issues to prolong whatever weird phobia you have towards affection." You were about to make a comment on how rational and philosophical your friend was being _until_ she quickly followed her previous statement with:

"Wow, my **mind**! I really am _that bitch_ in this household. I really am the glue that holds you two unstable ass hoes together. I'm like y'all anti-depressant and shit, I should be getting paid for single-handedly solving all y'all problems!"

Your eyes roll so far back into your head that it hurts.

"And **I** should be getting paid for putting up with you for all these years! Now, getcha broke ass down to that studio and dance for that rent money."

"Don't you got work today, too?" She asks, stepping back down the hall to slip into the shoes she left by the door.

"Not with five hundred dollars in my bag, I don't." You laugh. Before you even got up from the bed, you got someone else to take your shift today because there's no way you'd be able to make it in after yesterday.

"It truly blows my mind how quickly you turn boujee with a few dollars in your pocket. Ay, if you stay with Prince Charming, you could probably quit that tired ass barista job and just let him hand you the checks." She opened the front door.

"Taking the money that he offers me is one thing, but I'll be damned if I'm relying on some nigga to pay my own bills. I'm not a charity case, I'm a grown ass woman with morals and integrity." You say as she lingers by the door.

"Again. Couldn't've been me." She laughs at you. "Bye, girl, love you!"

You wave goodbye as she saunters out.

 

* * *

 

Your idle hands twiddled nervously around your phone, gripping it as if you were about to make a call but never actually following through with it. His name was entered in your contacts as ' _Daddy_ ' with a couple tongue emojis when he returned it to you, which you quickly changed to his actual name when he wasn't paying attention. Would calling first make you seem desperate? You debated that question in your head as you continued staring down his name on the phone screen. Casey was ironing her work shirt in the background as you sat anxiously on the couch in the living room.

"Baby doll," Casey's soft, lullaby voice removed your eyes from the phone. "I think you need a distraction. This boy has got you sitting there in a tin foil hat."

"I'm not crazy. I'm not even that worried about him."

She harumphs, smiling. "I'm so glad that I no longer have to deal with that nonsense, the waiting rules, and constant worrying." Casey begins what you know is about to be an hour long rant about how much better it is to be a lesbian. "Funny story! My girlfriend, Jessica, and I started our relationship solely through text messages because --"

" _Because we were so awkward in person. So, we never worry about double texting or triple texting because we understand each other so well. I love my girlfriend. Jessica, Jessica, Jessica_." You finish for her. The goofy smile still hasn't left her face.

"I do. I do love my girlfriend. That reminds me, Jessica has a show next week at the park. She's performing a few new songs and she asked if you and Leah will be there."

"Not sure about Leah, but I'll try to make it." You promised. Jessica is basically an extension of Casey by now, so it's second nature to support her endeavors as much as you would your best friend.

"It's gonna be insane! I've been working on this new brownie recipe especially for it, which includes walnuts because I know Jessy's been craving walnuts so much lately."

"...And weed?"

"I thought that was a given. You think I'd waste my time baking anything that doesn't have marijuana in it? I'm not an animal." She snorts. You glance back to your phone, thumb hovering over the call button. "Forget whatever foolish bullshit Aaliyah's pitching to you. You don't know this guy and you shouldn't feel pressured to continue messing with him just because he thought your pussy was so good that he had to clear his wallet for it. You know better than me that there's no such thing as Prince Charming. Don't play yourself."

Casey finishes her ironing and then puts her wrinkle-free shirt on, buttoning and tucking it into her oversized slacks. She has a point. With your mind made up, you set your phone down on the table. Casey's right, she's usually always right about everything else, so she has to be right about this as well. It's not like he'd be torn up that you never called him, you'd probably never even run into him again, your apartment is a hell of a long way from his estate.

"Good point. I'll just get dressed, go for a walk, maybe visit Aaliyah at the studio, and enjoy the rest of my vacation day before work tomorrow."

But even as you say the positive words, it feels wrong. It doesn't feel like it'd be this easy, which is what unnerves you about it.

Just as you're about to move from the couch, your phone buzzes. You turn to Casey, but shes already put the ironing board away and has earbuds blasting in her ear. She waves goodbye to you as she dances her way out of the apartment, clearly not noticing your dilemma. 

It buzzes three more times before you pick it up.

"Hello?" You answer although you know exactly who it is.

"Good morning, beautiful."

Okay, maybe you _didn't_ know exactly who it was after all. You blink in surprise

"T'Challa?" You ask, already smiling. There's some scuffling over the line before his voice comes in clearly again.

"Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you would like to accompany Erik, Shuri, and I --" There's more movement and scuffling from the other line and you could distinctly hear Erik's voice angry-whispering Xhosa at T'Challa. It sounds like they were fighting over the phone, so you wait patiently for someone to get it. A young woman's voice joins in the fray of chaos, followed by a smacking sound and a slew of curses. 

"Hello?" You ask again, trying to get their attention. 

"Ay. Sorry 'bout my dumbass cousin." Erik apologizes. 

"He didn't bother me." You clarify and he snorts. "I guess I'll just let you go now if that's all this was." You say. He's quiet for a moment.

"Do you want there to be more?" He asks. How does he always place you in a position of power while still remaining dominant? 

"Nah, I'm good." Is your quick reply. You try to remember what Casey was talking about, but it's so much harder going through it as you actually talked to him.

He sucks his teeth. "Oh, you good?" He sounds a little irritated, which really didn't make sense to you. It's not like you said ' _fuck you, go away_ ', but he's creating this unnecessary tension like you did. 

"Did you not hear me the first time?" You ask, getting quite irritated yourself. It's not like he even called you in the first place.

"You know, I'm really sick of that attitude." 

"I don't care." 

He laughs. "Oh, you really brave now that we not in the same room. You better calm yo ass down."

"You can just give the phone back to T'Challa if this is how you plan on talking to me right now." 

It's painfully quiet on his end. 

"Get fucking dressed, we going out." The line clicks before you could even protest. The nerve of this man. Still, despite his abruptness, you jumped to your feet and ran back to your room to look for an outfit. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Killmonger in this one. I just wanted to give you a quick one that establishes friendships before continuing. Thank you for your support!


	6. Chapter 6

Erik Stevens felt like a force of nature, unstoppable and unchallengeable, slowly sneaking into your mind when you didn't want him to, embedding himself in your life without a second thought. He made you want to change things for the better...starting with your horrendous wardrobe. He's only seen you in your special occasion thot dress and his baggy clothes, so he isn't aware that your closet is a wasteland of old sweaters and ripped jeans. You're ten minutes into tearing your closet apart searching for an outfit appropriate enough for wherever you were going, which he didn't tell you about, not even when you texted him about it. His reply was a laughing emoji.

Half of your room had clothes strewn on it and in the middle of it all, you, seconds away from having some type of meltdown at the realization that you don't own the wardrobe that you deserve. Huffing in silent defeat, you put on a pair of black leggings and your oversized grey sweater. 

By the time your phone started buzzing the text of his arrival, you had already fixed your hair and makeup in the mirror, so you picked it up and started walking downstairs. You spotted Erik's Bugatti parked in front, a stark contrast to the patchy grass and uneven sidewalks around it. Your neighborhood wasn't the best, by far, with its loitered grass and crumbling streets that the city never cares to fix, but it's always been enough for you. You wouldn't be surprised if people were lurking in their windows watching his expensive show car wondering what the hell it was doing here all out in the open. He was standing beside it, leaning coolly against the hood of the car waiting for you, so you scurried faster towards him.

You checked him out from head to toe, which he noticed with a conceited smile. 

"Hey," you greet in a bashful whisper. The sun shines down on his moisturized skin brilliantly, making his dusky skin glow a creamy brown, and his dark eyes lighten enough for you to see his irises. He still intimidated you, still made you feel so much smaller in his presence no matter how much he let you talk back and, in a twisted way, that only excited you. His arms wrap around your waist and you instinctively latch yourself around his neck as you're being pulled in.

He kisses you and it's unexpected but not unwelcome. You stand on your toes to reach him, kissing back with an equal vehemence, and softening under his firm hands gripping your body closer. As ridiculous as it sounds, you missed kissing him - or, the feeling of kissing him. The feeling of burning all throughout the inside of your body yet still being plagued with the chill of goosebumps on your skin. He could make your hairs stand up by a simple slip of the tongue, a small grunt into your mouth, a calloused hand trailing down your waist. You squeal on his mouth as his arms drop to your hips and lift you up, spinning you around twice before setting you back to the ground. You're laughing through his adamant kisses, lightly patting his chest to stop his attack on you. Playfully, he pinches at your side and pecks your cheek before finally pulling away. You're in a daze, of course, the same dopey one you slip into whenever he's around and all you can see is him. 

He bites his lower lip, looking you up and down. "Wassup?"

Before you could answer him, a gagging sound chime from inside the car. You turn around, shocked that he kissed you like that with people in the car watching. 

"Cousin, must you stick your tongue down this girl's throat before even giving her a proper introduction? You bring me all the way down here just to make out with your girlfriend?" Shuri's head sticks out of the back window, frowning in clear disapproval. Princess Shuri. You quickly smooth your hair down and make yourself somewhat presentable. 

"I'm not his girlfriend --" "Not my girlfriend--" You both protest at the same time.

At least you're both on the same page about something. Excitedly, you skip to Shuri's door, sticking an awkward hand through the cracked window. She shakes it, amused at your eagerness, and you tell her your name, stuttering only slightly. You don't even care if Erik's judging you for being so nervous, it's so overwhelming to meet royal figures. She laughs and it's such a heartwarming sound that you find yourself laughing with her.

"I'm Shuri. Nice to meet you." She greets back. You disconnect your hands and turn back to Erik, who is rolling his eyes. You peer closer into the car to the seat next to her, which you notice T'Challa is occupying. He waves at you.

"Beautiful. Nice to see you again." He says. A silly giggle bubbles its way up your throat at his nickname for you. Honestly, you needed a recorded video of T'Challa calling you all kinds of cute nicknames in that accent and you'd be set for life.

"Hey, T'Challa. It's always nice to see you." You reply, feeling the heat rush to your face. He winks back at you, playfully. You glance back to Erik but he's turned away from you and already getting back in the car, so you follow his example, opening the door and settling into the passenger seat beside him. "So, where are we going?" You ask as you're buckling up. Erik looks down at your outfit with a disparaging smile and snorts.

"To the mall, it's looking like." He utters, managing to drop your confidence from a solid eight to three. You glance at your black tennis shoes in disdain, regretting not just sucking it up and stealing Aaliyah's chunky boot heels to up your outfit game. 

"You didn't tell me what to wear. This is a neutral outfit!" You defend your basic fashion while casually refraining from cursing him out in front of his royal siblings.

The last thing you want is for T'Challa and Shuri to know exactly how explicit and horribly informal you truly were, but you gave Erik a side eye you hoped would be brutal enough to inflict actual pain on him. Not everyone has three fucking closets.

"I ain't say nothing because I wanted to see what you'd come up with. You look like you 'bout to go jogging and shit." He judges a little rudely. You squint at his sudden attitude.

Shuri scoffs. "Do not listen to him, you look fine." She assures you, but Erik is sucking his teeth beside you as he puts the car in drive. You look from him to the back where Shuri and T'Challa were sitting rather uncomfortably. There's this weird energy in the car, you realize, like Erik was legitimately angry at T'Challa, who wasn't even really speaking. You smile back at T'Challa for reassurance and he offers a kind look back to you, but there's a stiffness to him that's a little uneasy. His eyes turn back to his window, staring out at your street with a guilty expression. 

"Where exactly are we all going?" You ask to break the tension.

" _They_ are going to get some work done," He points to the backseat. "And _we_ are going to eat."

"But --" Shuri starts, but he holds his hand up to silence her. "Cousin!" She exclaims.

"I don't even wanna hear it, Ri. I already told yo ass." He shuts her down quickly. She sits back, crossing her arms. You felt like you were imposing on a private family matter.

It's eerily quiet for the first five minutes of the drive, mostly because Erik neglected to turn the radio on, and the only thing you could actively give attention to was the steady beat blasting from Shuri's headphones. You tried to start a conversation but somehow everything reached a complete dead-end, even with T'Challa. So, you sat and kept to yourself, occasionally glaring at Erik through the corner of your eyes and occasionally scrolling down your Instagram feed. The only thing that tore your eyes away from the dancing baby on your feed was the car coming to an abrupt stop in front of a large office building about ten minutes later. Shuri's hand touches your shoulder as she opens her door.

"See ya," she pats you before slipping out of the car with T'Challa right behind her. He just waves his exit. You watch as they stroll past the security and into the building with an ease that only comes with having authority. Without the audience, you turn back to glare at him.

"The fuck is your problem? It was nice meeting the princess, but all this extra shit with the silence and insulting how I look? You really got me fucked up!" You exclaim. You weren't even about to call his ass in the first place and, technically, he didn't even call you. 

"Chill out, shorty, it's not that deep. I'm aggravated. Not at you." He sighs. His face looks dejected with his scrunched eyebrows and pouty mouth, so you can believe that he's feeling a certain kind of way. You reach your hand out to his, lightly touching him without being too assertive. He doesn't look like the kind of guy that responds well to a deeper emotional connection in these situations.

His eyes linger down to your hands, then slowly trail up to your face. His expression is blank, so you're unsure if you did a good thing or a bad thing, but you decide to roll with it. 

"Do...you wanna...talk about it?" You suggest with a squint.

"Fuck no." He replies. You breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God. You barely even wanted to see him, let alone listen to him vent about some shit you had nothing to do with. Once you get involved with his emotional side, you might as well be in a relationship with the man and that's not what this was.

"Cool. Now, suck that shit up and take me out like you promised." You laugh, finally getting a genuine smile out of him. "Sensitive ass." He rolls his eyes at you while starting his car up again.

"Damn, okay." 

You laugh at his expression and turn the radio up as he begins driving again. You had a strong feeling that no one outside of his family talked to him the way you did, which was a damn shame because his face afterward is always so hilarious to you. You liked how he'd raise his eyebrows comically high and grin in surprise, looking partially offended and partially amused. There were a lot of small things about him that made you all warm on the inside, and so far none of them had to do with his cold exterior. 

"It's not anywhere fancy, right? I just want a McChicken sandwich."

"A sandwich?" He asks, baffled. "I just gave yo ass five hunnid dollars and you wanna go to McDonalds and shit? I need to un-humble you."

"I don't need to spend thousands of dollars on a meal, nigga, just gimme two McChickens and a chocolate shake on the side! I'll be fine!"

"You want me to cancel the five-star restaurant reservation I made so you can eat fast food?"

"Who's really doing all that for lunch? You are the most bougie ass nigga I've ever met in my life. But you're ' _royalty_ ', so it's not a surprise."

"Why you say royalty like that? Watch that tone. I'm a real nigga. And if I got the means, me and my girl ain't about to slum it at some fast food place with terrible service and rachet workers."

You smirk. "Your girl?"

He's stopped at a red light when you say it and he turns to you with a deadpan expression. Your eyebrows wiggle suggestively.

"Don't." He commands. If you didn't listen when Bryson Tiller said it, you sure as hell don't need to listen to him, so you continue on anyway.

"That's bold of you to just say." You keep going. "Is that why you're doing all this? You want me to be your girl?" You ask rhetorically and giggle at his faux-annoyed expression. "I don't know, I think you need to earn the right to call me your girl like that." You tease. 

His eyes held not even the slightest trace of the light humor emanating from you. They were soft, but cut through you like glass, drawing you closer to something that you didn't understand. Though, his face did not correlate with the intensity of his eyes, calmly smiling and as relaxed as ever. Usually, his eye contact felt elating like you were flying on the highest of clouds with a warmness that comes from your underbelly and spreads all over you like a blanket. All his stare does now is make you anxious, nervous, and twitchy as you wait for a response you're not even sure will come. You start to internally freak out, afraid you've subconsciously taken a harmless joke and struck a chord with him. He turns away from you and back to the road seconds before the light switches.

"You won't let me." He whispers before taking off again.

It takes a couple of seconds to digest his sentence and when you finally do, he's already on another topic.

"Who allowed all these niggas on the road? Can't nobody drive! The fuck!" He speeds past a slow-moving Prius, honking angrily as he did so. 

Maybe now is not the time to address whatever the hell he means. With a little difficulty, you let his remark slide for the moment and stick a pin in it for later.

He continues on with the drive giving into his phase of road rage, cursing out a few students drivers, flipping off cabbies, and speeding past the 'bitch made' cars.

You stop in front of his suggested restaurant, of course, because he doesn't do compromises well. You look up at the fancy place with apprehensive eyes, wondering about the scene and the people and what you'd even look like in that environment. His hand touches yours, not grabbing but resting.

"Calm down, you're with me." He assures. "If anyone makes you feel uncomfortable at all, I'll buy the fucking place and we can eat there by our damn selves. Okay?"

"Do we have to do this? I don't see the reason."

"The reason is that you deserve quality food. Don't worry, I got you." He reminds you with a shake of his head. You blush and look away.

"Okay," you mutter. He leans towards you, gripping your jaw and turning your head back to him. Your foreheads graze as he regards you, drinks in the sight of you. 

"Kiss me," he orders. You push up against him, letting your lips meld together lightly, then all at once. You almost hate how good it feels to kiss him. He pulls away five seconds into the smooch and looks down at you, questionable. "You good?" He asks.

"Yeah," you smile in a way you can only assume is ridiculous by how much your cheeks start to ache. He pecks your lips once more before unbuckling your seat belt for you. You both exit the car and the valet immediately comes to take the keys and park the car. The walk inside is less intimidating than you imagined, it's surprisingly pleasant and without one single old white person to look down at you. In fact, there weren't many white people at all despite how incredibly expensive the place looked. You were about to ask him about that, but a waiter appeared beside him and began leading the two of you past the other tables towards the back. 

He paid for a private room, of course.

The lighting is dimmer inside of the large back room, casting a soft, orange glow on everything in the room. A square, dark mahogany table sits in the very center of it all with two velvet chairs opposite each other. There are a few plants in the corners and other expensive knick-knacks sitting atop various shelves on the dark brown walls. As you continue your admirable stare, he nudges you from behind to take your seat. You stumble forward slightly before taking the dozen or so steps it took to get to the table, then sitting down in the plush seat. The waiter sets your respective menus on the table and makes himself scarce, speed-walking back through the door you entered through to tend to others.

"You bring a lot of girls here?" You ask. And, honestly, you don't why you ask the question, but it spews out before you could contain the thought. He shakes his head, unweathered by your inquisition.

"No, but I won't lie, there were a couple." He says. 

"I figured. This whole set up is pretty smooth." You compliment. 

"Bet you glad we ain't go to McDonald's."

"Don't speak so soon, I ain't taste they burgers yet." You joke.

You open your menu and frown.

"It doesn't show any prices." You notice, flipping through the laminated pages in confusion. 

"It's not supposed to. Just get whatever."

You've gone your whole life being as frugal as possible, always handling money, especially if it were not yours, with care and responsibility. There was never room in your life to go wild with cash, to always eat whatever you wanted at whatever the cost, to have random extravagant lunches for no reason and not question the bill. You know that on some level he understands what you've gone through and why you respond the way that you do to his showcases of wealth, but at the same time, he doesn't understand. He's had money for the most part of his life so, humble beginnings or not, he can't feel how crazy this is for you. You scan through the menu and like a muscle memory you skip over the steaks and lobsters and settle on the burger selections. 

As you finally decide on your order, you peak over the top of your menu to peak at Erik. He looks to be contemplating between a few things on his menu, looking back and forth between the words with a wrinkle in his eyebrows. You find yourself in one of those moments where you can't help but delight in his handsomeness. You like when his dreads are loose and wild, framing his face shape so perfectly. He's made even more beautiful underneath the warm glow of lights. His eyes snap up to you like he could hear your inner commentary. You blush and raise your own menu higher to shield yourself. He laughs at your clear embarrassment.

"What?" He asks. You set the menu back down, instantly feeling less protected than your makeshift shield allowed you to be.

"Nothing. I just...I like your hair like that."

He smirks. "Had to make it easier for you to grab on to. I know you like that shit."

Your eyes widen. 

"You seem pretty confident about having sex with me again. Who's to say I don't just eat this meal and leave?"

"Your pussy." He smiles and you roll your eyes.

" _Anyway_ , I think I'll be ordering the smokehouse barbeque burger." You ignore his comment and try to change the subject matter.

Thankfully, he lets whatever dirty thoughts plaguing his mind go and follows along with your swift and obvious subject change, commenting on which dish he wants. The waiter, whose name you didn't catch, times his arrival perfectly and swoops back in to take your orders and offer the prince some special wine on the house. 

"So, what is it that you do? You know, other than being the Prince of Wakanda."

"I'm the head overseer for the Outreach Program in Oakland, the big building beside Shuri's science thing. I'm not there all the time, but I get my notifications when I need to drop in and handle some shit."

"Seriously? That's amazing."

"Yeah, I'm pretty amazing." He boasts and you kick his leg from underneath the table.

"Oh, my God, shut up! I'm just saying...someone with your status wouldn't need to do that. It's...admirable that you do." Your cheeks burn predictably, but Erik looks as pleased as ever. "I've been to that building so many times. It's kind of weird that we haven't crossed paths already."

His eyes shift from yours down to the table, then back up again. He smiles, perhaps too smoothly, but it's enough to get you to smile with him. "Yeah. Crazy."

If he was being weird, you didn't comment on it.

"Enough about me, though. You ain't never tryna talk about yourself."

"My life is ridiculously boring compared to yours." 

"I don't care. Bore me! I'm feeling weird as shit witchu knowing all my business and I barely know where you live." 

"You know where I live." You deadpan. He scoffs.

"Not the apartment number or anything."

"Girls don't just give away their apartment numbers to strangers."

"You know what I mean."

You sigh, eventually caving. You decide to tell him about where you work, the busy barista hell-zone flashing back to you horribly. When you got the job, you were desperate as hell and needed any kind of money you could get to keep up with rent money, and now it's like you were stuck there with the mediocre pay and over stressful work environments with the bratty managers and annoying co-workers. You tell him that Casey has the best job out of your trio, despite being the lazier of you guys and having a strong dependence on marijuana. You tell him about moving away from your family after high school and how that change almost made you give up on yourself until your best friends pulled you back together. You wouldn't get too deep into your familial relationships, quite like him you had things too depressing to bring up in casual conversation. You tried to focus on the good things, like that time you won those free Drake concert tickets from a radio station, and when you took that trip to New York and met Captain America. He's surprisingly content in listening to you ramble on about anything and everything you could think of.

"Captain America, huh?" He asks once he see's the expression on your face.

"Don't judge me. He's my favorite Avenger, wherever the hell he is now." You comment, thinking about that whole 'rogue Captain America' news headline. 

"No comment." 

Your food finally arrives and you immediately get to eating, slightly uncaring that he's staring at you devour your meal. You have to begrudgingly admit that this meal beat any fast food you could ever think to order. Sitting there having lunch with him felt more natural than it should have, all the playful banter and lingering stares were enough to leave you wanting to do it again. There still remains a stubborn part of your brain that believes this is all an elaborate prank, that he's not really the person he pretends to be in front of you. Though, his comforting presence seems to be drowning that nagging voice out more and more.

You're a little bubbly from the wine as you get back into the passenger seat of his car. You hadn't realized how long you two had been in there, but the sky was getting darker already and Erik spend the time it took to walk back to the car asking you to go home with him again.

"I told you I have work tomorrow, I have to get home." You slur while buckling yourself in. 

"C'mon, I'll get you back home before then." He uses his persuasive voice, which sadly hasn't failed him yet. 

"I don't know."

He picks your hand up and presses his lips to your knuckles, slowly kissing upwards while keeping steady eye contact with you. "C'mon, baby, lemme take care of you tonight." He whispers to you. You bite your lip, contemplating. You know damn well that if you were traveling to his place tonight, you wouldn't be leaving in time to get to work tomorrow. But if you went home instead of leaving with him, you'd be frustrated the rest of the week. 

On one shoulder, you had Casey in a white dress, smoking the holiest of blunts, telling you that you have responsibilities. On the other was Aaliyah in a red bodysuit yelling at you to continue ho'ing. You knew you had absolutely too much wine if that's what you were imagining.

Screw it.

"Okay. Yeah, let's go." Your reply. He smirks wickedly before starting the car up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter fghjgfdghjg  
> Thanks for reading, though! lol


	7. Chapter 7

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom and you fall helplessly on his bed, bouncing slightly from the force. It feels so different than the first night, how he's handling you and watching you settle your body on his sheets. There's a different glint in his eyes this time, not from a curiosity of what's underneath your clothes, but from the knowledge of what he already knows and the eagerness of pulling you apart all over again like he knows he can. Your stomach still twists up in ecstatic knots when he looks at you like so - with those feline eyes and feral smirk, like he's ready to fuck the life out of you. As you pushed yourself up to your elbows and watched as he disposed of his shirt, you weren't even sure why you were having such an internal debate earlier about seeing him again. One second you're here, the next you're there - all you know is that he makes you stupid, no matter where your mind goes about him. 

You blink up at him beneath your thick eyelashes and lick your lips. You could especially feel the liquor in you as you watched him undress because so many thoughts that you'd usually keep caged in a secret part of your brain were coming to surface. 

He stares you down as he walks towards the bed. "Why the fuck are your clothes still on?" He rasps. You blink up at him, coyly, wiggling your feet.

"I wanted you to take 'em off." You smirk, biting your bottom lip. He grabs your ankle, suddenly, and you squeal as he drags you to the edge of the bed. He's right in your face then, leaning down and pressing his bare chest against yours.

"Last I checked, you don't like the way I take ya clothes off." He reminds you with a raised eyebrow. You giggle as you think back to your ruined pair of underwear, then lean up to press your lips against his jaw.

"Fuck these clothes. You can just buy me some more, can't you, daddy?" You ask in a husky whisper. He growls and presses down on you so you could feel his erection on your thigh. The abrupt reaction kind of shocks you. You realize, perhaps a bit late, that his wealth being distributed to you isn't just a nice gesture, it's a kink. So much more things start making sense, but you can't even focus on that because he's pulling your sweater over your head and ripping your leggings down your legs. 

"Fuck. I'll get you whatever you want, as long as you can be a good girl for me tonight." He says as he tosses your sweater to the floor. You kick your shoes off eagerly and nod up at him. His lips attached to your neck, kissing and sucking on you like you were his favorite candy. You moan shamelessly under him, trying to grind up on him and tame yourself of the violent sexual urge building up in you. 

"Please, fuck me." You whisper against him. 

"Be patient, let me get you ready." He replies gruffly. You shake your head, then reach for his hand. You guide him down to your ruined panties, forcing his fingers to feel the wetness that's been building since he first laid his hands on you. He curses and rubs lightly at your clit as you grind on him.

"I'm always ready for you." You moan. 

"Damn, you so fucking wet and I ain't even do anything to you," He breathed, still softly rubbing you back and forth. "That's my girl." He boasts. "You keep that pussy wet for me?"

You nod, whining at his deliberate stroking. His praise and attention to you make you preen in recognition, subconsciously opening yourself up more for him, taking ridiculous pride at your own physical reaction to him. You don't think you've ever felt this way before, craving for praise and compliments during sex, you've always been pushed into a more dominant position. It feels amazing. You just want him to call you his girl again.

"Please," your voice cracks. "I'm ready."

He chuckles at your begging and rips the cotton material of your panties. You gasp at the force of it, but you're ultimately relieved to finally be getting somewhere. 

He pushes against you again, this time sinking the brunt of his teeth into your neck while sliding his fingers into your pussy. You barely know what to react to first, you're just a moaning mess holding onto him as he tears you apart from the outside in. His thick fingers stretch you open easily, slowly pushing in and out until you're grinding along with him. His mouth on you starts sucking, no doubt trying to create discoloration along your dark skin. You sigh and let yourself melt in his talented hands, your eyes rolling back. 

"Why do you always tease me?" You ask between your broken moans. "I've been nothing but good for you all day." He pauses his attack on your collarbone and stops his magical hands still buried inside of you. He levels with you, but you're growing impatient with his antics.

"Oh, really?" He asks. You nod. "Because you pissed me off when I called you this morning. Then, you run along and continue flirting with my cousin after I go out of my way to pick you up for lunch."

You squint, confused. "Nigga, what? I didn't --"

" _It's always soooooo nice to see you._ " He does a poor imitation of you that has you glaring. First of all, you don't sound like that.

"That was a formality. Was I not supposed to greet the King of Wakanda?"

"Next time just say hello."

"You know, jealousy ain't a good look on you." You tease. He was taking your actions a tad too seriously, which was equal parts hilarious and annoying. Sure, if you had met T'Challa first and, for whatever reason, he decided he wanted to go out with you, you'd go in a heartbeat. But that's not how everything went down and it's not realistic. There's also something very telling about the way he's so possessive of you around T'Challa as if he'd ever even want you in the first place. Erik bucks into you and you gasp. You'd forgotten that his fingers were still inside you.

"It's not even like that," he assures, not so convincingly. "It's not a good look for me. I can't take you places and have you looking at him more than me. I'm in the public eye. If niggas see that online, imma get clowned." He slowly starts gaining rhythm in his hand, sliding in and out of you. Your head falls back to the mattress, amazed at the spots his fingers are hitting and filling up with such a heat that it scares you. Whatever his explanation was, it was good enough for you, you just wanted him to hurry up and fuck you.

"Right. Of course." You agree, hoping to quickly move his monologuing ass along. 

"You don't wanna make me look bad, right?" He asks, but it all sounds like static to you at this point.

"No.  _Fuck_."

His fingers twist and scissor around in you while his thumbs lightly press on your clit. You shake from the pleasure and open your mouth for a silent scream.   
"So, what you gon' say when you see that nigga?" He asks. You groan, but it's hard to be angry right now. 

"Hello." You sigh, desperately trying to grind down on his thick fingers. His thumbs begin circling your clit and you squeeze your eyes close.

"And what else? Huh? Look at me." He demands. With a huff, you force your heavy eyelids open and stare up at him, his eyes looking fierce and unrestrained. That sent another jolt of pleasure through you. "What else you gon' say?"

You shake your head. "Nothing." You say in hopes that maybe he'd calm down. Instead, his fingers retract from you. You're about to protest, scream at him, reprimand him in some way, but your open mouth is quickly filled with his index finger. 

"Taste yourself."

Without hesitation, you begin sucking and licking your fluids off from his fingers, at this point doing just about anything to feel him inside of you again. You take his hand in yours, keeping him in your mouth as your tongue swirls around him enthusiastically. He pauses to watch you, eyes tracking every movement of your tongue, biting his lip. 

"I'd rather taste you." You whisper. He sucks in sharp breath and moves in between your legs, lining himself up with you. He takes himself in his hand and rubs against your soaking cunt, coating the head of his dick with your slick and lightly pressing into you. You whimper at the teasing sensation and let your head fall back against the bed.

"Maybe later, baby. I need this pussy right now."

You're pushed forward by his powerful thrust into you. He's so thick inside of you, filling you up just the way you like and it makes you cry out. He continues thrusting up, situating himself inside of you and pulling your legs so that they rested widely on either side of his waist. You trail your hands from his shoulders down to his chest, scratching your fingernails into the bumps lining his pecs. He keens over you, leaning into your fingers.

"Fuck. Do that harder." He grunts. Your fingers dig into his chest with more power and he lets out a sinful moan that sends heat straight to your core. He ruts into you harder, to the point where you can hear the wet smacking in every thrust of his hips into yours. "You like that?" He asks between thrusts. You nod, trying to push down into him just as much as he was to you.

"Yeah," you reply through a shaky moan. He hits a spot deep inside that has your eyes rolling back, so you pant for him to keep fucking you right there. He doesn't listen to you, of course. He slowly pulls out from you with a sinister smile on his face. You whine and try to buck into him again, using your legs wrapped around him to pull him in, but he detangles himself from your grip.  
"Shut the fuck up before I give you something to cry about." He says, landing a piercing slap to your ass in the process. You yelp, frowning. He sits up beside you on the right side of the bed and gestures towards his dick.

"Get up here, baby." He tells you. You eagerly move to his side, lifting your left leg around to straddle his waist, setting your arms over his broad shoulders. He takes the opportunity to grip your thighs, moving up and down your legs clenching and rubbing in appreciation. You slowly drop down to his lap and you can feel his hard dick beneath your pussy, the sensation of him right there causing you to bite your bottom lip. You slide against him once, spreading your wetness on him and his arms instantly wrap around your midsection, pulling you against his chest. 

"Quit playing." He grunts into your neck, swiping his tongue against your skin.  You shiver.

"You can dish it out but you can't take it," You comment, lifting yourself up and lining his dick up with you. You're wet enough to slide down on him easily, lowering down on him with a drawn out moan. "Oh, fuck," you whine once you're fully seated on him. He's kissing around your jaw, sloppily staking his claim on you with as many hickies as he can manage. You lightly hit his shoulder, hoping for him to ease up on you, but that only encourages him. His strong hands travel down to your waist and rocks you against him. 

"You feel so good... _fuck me_ ," he moans, pulling you down harder on him. You use your hands on his shoulders to lift yourself up and sink back into him more harshly. "That's it, take all of it." His soft moans spur on your movements, so much so that you find yourself bouncing up and down, rolling and circling yourself on him in ecstasy. His arms wrap around your waist protectively and he looks up at you with glazed over eyes. You slow yourself down for a second, opting to grind on him lazily as he blinks up at you with that beautiful expression. You can't help the blush that heats your face up.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask through a breathy moan. 

"You just a...fucking goddess," he grunts as you push down on him. Your lips attack his, kissing, sucking and biting. You hope he can feel how much you appreciate that comment. 

But just to be a brat, you pull back to say, "I know."

He smacks your ass, and even though you saw that coming, your body still jolts. His hands move back to guide you up and down on his dick, keeping a steady, unforgiving pace. He's hitting spots you've never even known were there, the curve of his dick hitting against where you were most sensitive. You cry out because of the impact and bury your face into his shoulder, covering your moans into his shoulder, biting his skin to avoid from screaming. He growls and lifts himself higher to meet your thrusts. 

"Look at me," he demands. You lift your head from his shoulder and do your best to gaze into his eyes amidst the constant up and down. His hands travel roughly from your waist to your chest - fondling in his pursuit - and up to your face. He uses his grip on either side of your face to pull you into his face, smashing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss with excessive tongue, but you love every second of it. You push back into the passionate kiss, feeling your orgasm catching up to you faster than ever before. 

You pant against his mouth. "I'm gonna cum." You whine. 

"I got you, baby, I got you. Cum on this dick." He orders. You feel yourself fall apart against him and you hold fall into your familiar state of euphoria. 

You had no idea why you even thought for one second you could deny this man.

 

* * *

 

 

You're still in the haze of your afterglow when he decides to get up and grab a rag from his bathroom to clean you both off. You're smiling up lazily at him as he wipes away the mess you've both made and tosses the rag in a garbage bin. He jumps back in bed, landing above you.

He leans down and kisses you tenderly. You hold him there for a second before pulling away and inspecting his eyes. They seemed glossed over in thought, mindlessly gazing at you with an expression that you couldn't quite place.

You grin. "Whatcha thinkin' about?" You ask. He shakes his head.

"I don't know. You." He smiles softly, and although the comment hits you right in the heart, you roll your eyes and push him away. He falls back to his side of the bed with a laugh. "What?"

"Stop doing that." You insist whilst fighting down the stupid smile begging to light up your face. "I think we're well past saying cheesy shit to get each other into bed again."

"I don't know if you noticed, but you're already in my bed."

"Whatever." You mutter as you slide to the edge of the bed and look for an unripped pair of bottoms on the floor. You feel him scooting up behind you.

"C'mon, you know you only acting this way because you like me." He states, causing you to scoff, not in disagreement but at the absurdity of his statement.

"Are you in fifth grade?"

"Are  _you_?" He claps back. "Because you acting like you don't know what to do with your feelings."

" _Feelings_?" You pull a pair of his sweatpants up your legs, then turn to glare at his smug face. "What do you know about my feelings?"

"Nothing. Except that you like me." He teases, and it does feel exactly like middle school so, like an adult, you slap his arm for embarrassing you.  
"Shut up."

"Say you like me and I swear I'll shut up."

"You're a child." You snort. His arms wrap around your waist and pull you back to the bed where he tosses you beneath him. "Oh my God, this is so stupid, let me go!"

He has you pinned down so tightly beneath him that you can barely even wiggle out of it. Your only option is to stare up at the ceiling except meet his intrusive eyes and hopes he lets this go. He makes this hard for you.

"You don't have to be so embarrassed. I don't fuck with people that I don't like."

You figure that's his nonchalant off-handed way of saying that he likes you.

"Fine," you fold under his scrutiny, then look back into his eyes. "I like you." You confess with a little struggle. He smirks and nods, lifting off you. You glare at his back as he turns to leave the bed. 

"I'm 'bout to get a drink."

"Don't you also have something you want to say?" You push him, though you know he's already somewhat admitted to it, you want to hear the actual words for reassurance. He plays dumb.

"Huh?"

You continue glaring.

"Oh! Did you want me to get you something, too?"

You sigh, then roll your eyes as he laughs at you. Whatever, you're not upset. He doesn't have to say anything.

"The strongest shit you got, please."

 

* * *

 

 

You could never quite get used to his high-priced home life. Every time you saw his house, you noticed some detail that you hadn't before, and then you were stuck in a daydream of having a house just as amazing and dancing in front of it as MTV Cribs filmed you acting a complete fool. You held on to his arm as he guided you into his living room, secretly feeling up his arm when he wasn't paying attention. 

"I should've never shown you the liquor room." He comments as you fall to his couch, laughing.

"I've never had the wine that you couldn't get out of Walgreens, I was curious!" You say as loud as you want. It's not like he has neighbors close by, and even if he did, there's no way they would be able to hear anything in this giant ass house. "Woo! I love this fucking house so much."

He laughs. "You're a lightweight. You bet not throw up on anything in here, there are priceless artifacts all around you."

You scoff.  _Priceless artifacts_. He could've said something meaningful, yet he zeroed in on his weird collection of paintings and statues.

You sit up suddenly, eyes wandering back and forth around his house looking for the small touches that could make a house a home. He doesn't have much. There aren't any personal photos of him and his family, or awards for things he's achieved, nothing to distinguish and flesh out who he was as a person. He's looking at you like you're a drunken toddler, but you're actually noticing something quite sad about him. Lonely. 

"What's the point of this if you aren't gonna break it in?" You ask, gesturing around the living room. He smirks.

"Break it in? You wanna fuck on the couch?"

"No! I mean... _yes_ , but that's not what I mean!" You say. He squints at you. He's already has a stressful morning, you assume that's why he brought you back home with him, and you don't want to bring up anything to put him back in that cruel headspace. "Turn on some music." You order him on a whim. He's still looking at you like you're a little crazy but moves towards his radio regardless. The surround sound speakers blare out some crude trap song and you instantly shake your head, it's too early for that shit. You stumble off the couch and rush over to where he was messing with the radio.

"Hell nah, don't change my station,  **no**!"

But you're already pressing the buttons and scanning through stations. It lands on your favorite old school station, instantly blaring out Mint Condition. He eyes you judgingly. You squeal and turn the radio up louder so that it's coming from every direction and you can feel the bass beneath your feet. 

"I don't see how this is breaking in anything." He frowns. You laugh at his cute, pouty face and grab his hands.

"I feel like you haven't danced around this house yet. It's begging to be danced in. Embarrassing dances to cheesy, old music!" You explain, pulling him towards you no matter how annoyed he looked. "Nigga, do you even know how to have fun? Or is it all about sex?" You ask, only half serious.

"Sex  _is_ fun." He defends. 

You scoff. "You need to get out more."

"I'll get out more once you let me in more." He smirks deviously, then tries to pull you into his body, but you dodge him swiftly. "Don't be like that."

You roll your eyes and start swaying back and forth to the beat regardless of his opinion. He stands still, watching you with judgy eyes. You don't care, this is your song and you're tipsy off some extremely expensive wine. He's right, though, you should've been taking it easier on the liquor, otherwise, you wouldn't be feeling like you could legitimately sell out stadiums with your dance moves. You start singing the lyrics to him, putting on an over-the-top performance. 

" _Quit breaking my heeeaaaarrrt,_ " you sing smoothly, basking in all the attention he was giving you. You dance away from him, jumping to his couch and body rolling on top of his cushions. 

He rolls his eyes, smiling. "You know you stupid, right?"

You ignore his commentary, completing the chorus of the song with a dramatic spin followed by a few uncoordinated high kicks - which he laughs at you for. You ignore that and jump back to the floor, landing in a pose that points towards him. He's smiling now, so you know he's close to breaking his tough guy act and just joining you, so you dance around him for the second verse.

" _Please, don't deny the truuuuuth,_ " you tilt your head at him as you belt the lyrics and he scoffs. 

"You really doing this." He laughs. You grab his hands again and place them around your waist. He still refuses to move, so you start leading for him, forcing him to move from side to side with you. He eventually lifts a foot from the ground and gets into the rhythm with you. You grinned up at him, feeling giddy inside that he was actually up for looking like a fool with you. Your arms reach up and around his shoulders, leaning in to sway with him. 

" _Quit breaking my heeeaaaarrrt,_ " he surprises you by singing back to you - in an awful, completely off-key voice, but you still bounce in excitement. He dances with you more confidently, starting to lead you into movements this time. No one can ever really resist the nostalgia power of nineties r&b. 

"I knew you liked this song!" You giggle as he spins you.

"I know this song." He clarifies, tugging you back into his arms. Your eyebrows raise at him. "Shut up." He mutters.

"I ain't say nothing." You smirk. 

"I know what you be thinking." He says with an unmatched air of confidence. Always so damn confident.

"You do? What am I thinking?"

"You think I sit by the fireside listening to slow jams and shit."

"Am I wrong?" You ask, confident. "What else I'm thinking?"

"You still want me to fuck you on the couch."

You blush and look away, deciding to continue dancing and not say anything about how right he was. 

"Well, maybe if you impress me enough with this dancing thing, then we can move to the couch." You say. 

"Oh yeah? You make the rules now, baby? You think I won't put you in your place?" He asks. He leans down to kiss your cheek, then your neck which he sticks his face into eagerly. You sigh, moving your hand to his hair. "This lame ass version of having fun is actually okay, though." He compliments into your skin. You smile.

"You wanna keep dancing with me?" You ask in a daze. He comes up for air and presses his forehead against yours. 

"Long as I get to fuck you on the couch afterward." He says as if this was a chore for him. You hit his chest and move to get out of his hold, but he keeps you trapped in his arms and laughs at your attempts to leave. "C'mon, I'm playing." He kisses the side of your face and rocks with you as the song transitions into something smoother by Avant. You rest your head to his chest as you both rock back and forth around his living room.

"So," you start. He hums. "What's up with you and your family?" You ask. He stutters in his movements, then quickly gets back on rhythm with you.

"What do you mean?"

"T'Challa was acting kinda weird in the car." You hesitate to mention. He huffs.

"He's just a drama queen, don't pay him no mind." He stops whatever conversation you were trying to start. He frowns. "No discussing my cousin when it's just us. You can talk to that nigga yourself." He says, sounding a little bitter. You lift your head from his chest to look directly into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just --" 

"-- I know. Don't worry 'bout it."

But you already feel bad about it. You stand on your toes to press your lips to his, slowly kissing whatever unknown insecurities he had about his family away. He kisses back just as softly, which throws you off since you've gotten used to his aggression. He tilts into you, chasing your kisses and pulling you into his body completely. You feel like you're melting into him, turning into a mess right before his eyes, but he keeps on kissing you like your something so fragile and breakable. 

"Khulula iimpahla zakho." He whispers once your break apart for air. It sounds so beautiful, you have half a mind to think he has you a compliment that he's too embarrassed to say aloud.

"What's that mean?"

"Take off your clothes." He smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it took so long.


End file.
